ATING  LIBRARY 


>  ^* 

Daosit.tf.XCts. 


Rebate  i 


,  5acramento,  Cal. 


LEON   MEAD 


THE  BOW-LEGGED 
GHOST  AND OTHER 

STORIES  muum 


A  BOOK  Or  HUMOROUS  SKETCHES, 
VERSES,  DIALOGUES,  AND 
rflCETIOUS  PARAGRAPHS 

BY 

LEON  MEAD 


Wit  may  be  a  thing  of  pure  imagination,  but  humor  involves 
sentiment  and  character."  —  HENRY  GILES. 


£THE  WERNER  COMPANY 5 

NEW  YORK  «  AKRON,  OHIO  «  CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 

BY 
I<EON  MEAD 


THIS  VOLUME  IS  AFFEC 
TION  A  TELY  DEDICA  TED  to 
MY  BROTHER-IN-LAW,  MR. 
HARRY  K.   DUFFUS,    OF 
PHILADELPHIA 


1747013 


TO 

Prose  or  Verse  —  or  Verse  or  Prose  ?  — 
Ever  thus  the  query  goes,— 
Which  delight  do  we  prefer— 
Which  the  finer — daintier  ? 

Each  incites  a  taste  that  grows  — 
Prose  or  Verse  —  or  Verse  or  Prose  ? 
Each  a  lotus-eater's  spell 
Wholly  irresistible. 

All  that  wit  may  fashion,  free 
Voiced,  or  piped  in  melody, — 
Prose  or  Verse  —  or  Verse  or  Prose  — 
Which  of  these  the  mastery  knows  ? 

'  Twere  as  wise  to  question,  friend  — 

As  of  this  alluring  blend,— 

The  aroma  or  the  rose  ?  — 

Prose  or  Verse  —  or  Verse  or  Prose  ! 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

DEDICATION iii 

PROEM  BY  JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY v 

FORFAVARD    BY    THE    AUTHOR..  ,       xiii 


SECTION  I.  — STORIES  AND  SKETCHES 

THE  BOW-LEGGED  GHOST 17 

WHEN  EZRA  SANG  FIRST   BASS 26 

THE  WOMAN  IN  YELLOW 34 

AN  ASSUMED  WEAKNESS 41 

"  REVELS  OF  THE  MUSES  " 49 

THE  BELLE  OF  THE   DINNER 58 

THE  RISE  OF  REGAN 93 

MRS.  TUBBS'S  MANOEUVRES 107 

A  PARLOR-CAR  ROMANCE 119 

A  TELLING  SPEECH 127 

THE  GREAT  SPARROW  DISPUTE 141 

"  BROOMS  " 160 

THE  BEARDED  WIFE 170 

MONTRESSOR 187 

MRS.  BEVERIDGE'S  ADVENTURE 213 

A  POET'S  PASSION 224 

THE  STORY  OF  FOUR  CARRIER  PIGEONS 251 

A  LIVING  TOMBSTONE 271 

THE  MIND  CHILDREN 278 

(vii) 


SECTION  II.  — MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES 

EUGENE  FIELD  AND  BILL  NYE 287 

THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  LAUGH 293 

POLLY  297 

"  UNCLE  Hi "  IN  PARIS 303 

WILDER'S  LATEST 308 

HAPPY  HOPPER 313 

SELLING  LOCKS  OF  HAIR 318 

THE  PERFECTED  PHONOGRAPH 326 

DEACON  UPDYKE'S  ANNUAL  REPORT 330 

WILY  TIPPLERS 337 

No  WOMAN,   No  FAD  345 

ORIGIN  OF  "  BEAUTIFUL  SNOW  " 350 

FAT  MEN  AND  LEAN 355 

SOCIETY  ACTRESSES 360 

THE  NEW   LITERARY  ERA 364 

HUMBUG  AND   REALITY 368 

THEATRICAL  EXPANSION 371 

A  PROPOSED  JOURNAL 377 

BEFORE  THE  WEDDING 381 

A  MEMORY  OF  JOHN  GILBERT 384 

INGENIOUS  FLORAL  NOVELTIES 387 

COOK'S  MONDAY  LECTURE 392 

A  LITERARY  LUNCH  FIEND 394 

ROLLICKING  RICE 396 

A  SLIGHT   FAMILY  JAR 398 

THE  ART  OF  PICKING  A  BONE 403 

THE  DWARFS  OF  THE  JOSSGRUND 409 

A  NEEDFUL  INVENTION 415 

FASHION'S  CURIOUS  LORE 419 


(viii) 


Contents 


SECTION  III.  — VERSES 

BALLADE  OF  YE  OLD  TAR 431 

KATHRYN   DENEE 434 

CHOOSING   THE  QUILL 436 

A  BACHELOR'S  STORY 441 

TRAGEDY  OUT  WEST 443 

AN  EGYPTIAN  BEAUTY 446 

BETWEEN  THE  LINES 447 

ONLY  A  POOR  BLACK  CAT 448 

THE  BODING  MERMAID 453 

A  LITTLE   SOUKRETTE 455 

IN  THE  THROES 457 

RECRIMINATION 459 

HER  ANSWER 460 

BY  A  HAIR'S   BREADTH 461 

To  MAY  IRWIN 463 

DIANA  UP  TO  DATE 465 

A  REASONABLE  CONCLUSION 466 

EPITAPHS 467 

HER  IDENTITY 468 

THE  GIANT  AND  THE  DWARF 469 

THE  USUAL  THING 471 

A  SIMILE 472 

AN  ENGAGEMENT 473 

HER  NECK 475 

CAPRICIOUS  CUPID 476 

THE  YELLOW  CLARINET 478 

LINES  TO  A   COOK 481 

COMPARISON 482 

A  PARAGON 483 

AT  RICHFIELD  SPRINGS 484 


(ix) 


Contents 

SECTION  IV.  — DIALOGUES  AND  PARA 
GRAPHS 

SPECULATION  RUN  WILD 489 

ANSWERS  TO  CORRESPONDENTS 493 

LATEST  FROM  PINKVILLE 499 

SLAB  CITY  GOSSIP 503 

A  SHORT  ESSAY  ON  NUTS 506 

INTERVIEWING  A  TYPEWRITER 509 

A  WOMAN'S  WEAPON 512 

TRADE  JOURNALISM 515 

FALL   PROVERBS 517 

SOME  POSSIBLE  TITLES  OF  FUTURE  BOOKS 520 

FAVORITE  ANIMALS  IN  THE  PARK 528 

SOME  NOVEL  PRIZES 530 

HOME-MADE  SAUCE 532 

SNAP    SHOTS 536 

WHY?  538 

PITH  AND  PASQUINADE 539 

THE  DIFFERENCE 541 

FLYING  SCUD 542 

APPROPRIATE  PRESENTS 544 

WOMEN  AT  BILLIARDS 545 

AN  ETCHING   FROM  LIFE 546 

AN  OPEN  LETTER 547 

Two  POINTS  OF  VIEW 549 

WHEN  MR.  HOWELLS  WAS  YOUNG 550 

LUCKY 552 

TESTIMONIALS 552 

CONSIDERABLE  FORESIGHT 553 

HER  INFERENCE 554 

THE  CAUSE  OF  IT 554 

A  TRANSITORY  FEELING 554 

HAS  THE  PROOF 555 

HE  LEARNED  SOMETHING 555 

(x) 


Contents 

SHE  HAD  CHANGED 557 

A  MODERN  WORK 557 

His  TRUE  INWARDNESS 557 

OUT  OF  COMMISSION 558 

THE  PEDAGOGUE'S  REMARKS 559 

NOT  PRESSED  FOR   TIME 560 

To  BE  SURE  ! 560 

EVOLUTION  OF  A  FEMININE  NAME 561 

THE  WORST  KIND 561 

A  WOMAN'S  WRONG 561 

HE  DIDN'T  PASS  MUSTER 562 

GREAT  SELF-DENIAI 562 

CANDIDATES  FOR  SOCIETY 563 

BADLY  NEEDED 563 

AN   HONEST  CONFESSION 563 

EXCESSIVE  PLAINNESS 564 

YOUTHFUL  PRESUMPTION 564 

AMPLE    PROOF 564 

JUST  A  LITTLE  QUERY 565 

LOVE'S  LABOR  LOST 565 

LITERAI 565 

THE   PUBLIC 566 

A  COMICAL  PARAPHRASE 566 

THE  REASON 567 

THE  FACETIOUS   BUTLER 567 

THE  ROLE  REVERSED 567 

AN  AGRICULTURAL  GENIUS 568 

A  DANGEROUS  ANNOUNCEMENT 568 

A  DEFINITION 568 

A  NICE  DISTINCTION 569 

TWENTIETH-CENTURY  CHIVALRY 569 

FIRE  PROOF '. 569 

RATHER  PERSONAL 570 

A  LOGICAL  DEDUCTION & 57° 

WHAT  COULD  THE  POOR  TEACHER  SAY? 571 

A  MIGHTY  PROBLEM 571 

DOUBTING  His  DIAGNOSIS 572 

(xi) 


Contents 

A  TROPHY  OF  THE  CHASE 572 

DISAPPOINTED  IN  LOVE 573 

A  BUSINESS  MATTER 574 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  BRIDGE 575 

AN  ANTIQUE  EPIDEMIC 575 

REASON    ENOUGH 576 

AN  APT  QUOTATION 576 

LOST 576 

A  SEAT  IN  THE  FRONT  Row 577 

His  PRESENCE  OF  MIND 578 

VERSATILITY  WITH  A  VENGEANCE 578 

ONLY  BY  MARRIAGE 579 

A  FACIAL  FAILING 579 

A  TEUTONIC  PROJECT 580 

MENTAL  CONFUSION 580 

HE  KEPT  His  PROMISE 581 


(xii) 


§HIS  book  is  a  sort  of  a  verbal  table  d'  hotc. 
It  contains  considerable  spice,  but  I  trust 
nothing  that  will  harm  the  moral  or  intel 
lectual  digestion  of  the  reader.     It  was  cooked 
along  with  other  more   solid,  but  not  more 
hearty,  literary  comestibles,  and  if  the  crust 
of  the  various  pastries  here  provided  be  not 
done  brown  enough  —  well,  give  the  volume  to 
some  needy  person,   who  is  of  necessity  less 
fastidious. 

As  associate  editor  of  Truth,  it  was  my  pain 
ful  duty  to  grind  out  jokes  and  humorous 
paragraphs,  and  similar  experience  on  other 
publications  has  made  me  almost  a  wreck.  I 
still  retain,  however,  a  considerable  sense  of 
the  ridiculous,  and  am  a  confirmed  believer  in 
the  canny  philosophy  of  Mrs.  Ella  Wheeler 
Wilcox  :  — 

"  L,augh  and  the  world  laughs  with  you, 
Weep  and  you  weep  alone." 

If  the  contents  of  this  volume  do  not  meas 
ure  up  to  the  rollicking  humor  of  my  friend, 
the  late  Bill  Nye,  the  drolleries  of  Robert  J. 

(xiii) 


The  Bo~vu -Legged  Ghost 

Burdette,  or  the  amusing  skits  of  Mark  Twain, 
I  can  only  say  in  the  rhymed  language  of  Mr. 
John  Kendrick  Bangs  :  — 

"  I  met  a  little  elf  man  once, 

Down  where  the  lilies  blow  ; 

I  asked  him  why  he  was  so  small, 

And  why  he  didn't  grow. 

He  slightly  frowned,  and  with  his  eye 

He  looked  me  thro'  and  thro'  ; 
'  I'm  quite  as  big  for  me,'  said  he, 
'  As  you  are  big  for  you."  " 

Emerson  brings  out  the  same  idea  in  his 
poem  of  "  The  Mountain  and  the  Squirrel." 

"  If  I'm  not  so  large  as  you, 
You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 
And  not  half  so  spry. 
I'll  not  deny  you  make 
A  very  pretty  squirrel-track  ; 
Talents  differ  ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put ; 
If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 

Everybody  suffers  by  comparison  with  some 
one  else.  We  cannot  all  be  Shakespeares, 
Martin  Farquhar  Tuppers,  or  George  Francis 
Trains.  Iy.  M. 


(xiv) 


SECTION   I. 
STORIES   AND   SKETCHES 


(XV) 


The   Bow-Legged   Ghost 

WN  THE  summer  I  am  troubled  with  insom- 
M,  nia,  unless  I  pursue  a  certain  course 
which  I  found  out  myself  after  all  the 
doctor's  prescriptions  and  the  advice  of  friends 
had  dismally  failed.  Early  in  June  I  start  on 
a  pedestrian  tour,  walking  only  at  night  and 
sleeping  a  good  part  of  the  day.  In  this  way 
I  manage  to  avoid  that  awful  curse,  insomnia, 
during  the  "heated  term,"  when  it  would 
otherwise  relentlessly  assail  me. 

Well,  last  summer,  some  time  in  July,  I 
found  myself  in  a  part  of  the  country  I  had 
not  visited  before.  One  night,  near  the  hour 
of  twelve,  I  halted  for  a  rest,  having  trudged 
a  long  distance  since  the  falling  of  darkness. 
I  had  been  seated  on  a  stone  by  the  highway 
but  a  few  minutes  when  I  heard  scraping  foot 
steps  proceeding  from  the  direction  whence  I 
came. 

Presently  a  large,  or  rather  a  broad,  figure 
was  silhouetted  against  the  horizon.  As  it 
approached,  with  a  peculiar  wobbling  gait,  I 
2  17 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

could  hear  it  puff  as  though  winded  with  ex 
ertion.  As  it  came  closer  I  perceived  that 
the  pudgy  figure  was  clad  in  a  white  robe. 
This  sight  quite  startled  me.  Was  I  asleep, 
or  the  victim  of  a  hallucination?  I  pinched 
my  arm  and  convinced  myself  from  the  result 
ing  pang  that  I  was  indeed  wide  awake. 

In  the  course  of  five  minutes  the  figure 
stood  before  me.  It  was,  without  doubt,  a 
ghost. 

"Good  evening,"  he  said,  in  a  wheezy 
voice.  With  a  choking  sensation  of  horror  I 
managed  to  salute  him. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  went  on  ;  "I  am 
not  abroad  this  night  for  any  mischief.  But 
may  I  ask  you  how  it  happens  that  you  are 
on  so  desolate  a  road  alone  at  this  time  of 
night?" 

Something  in  his  straightforward  manner 
reassured  me,  and  with  increasing  self-posses 
sion  I  briefly  told  him  who  I  was  and  why  I 
was  there.  I  further  explained  that  travel 
ing  as  I  did  only  by  night,  I  had  little  or  no 
knowledge  of  the  country  I  was  in. 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  getting  lost?  Have 
you  a  family  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  never  wander  far  from  civilization,"  I 
replied.  "Yes,  I  have  a  wife  and  children, 
18 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

but,  as  I  told  you,  I  do  this  to  prevent  insom 
nia." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  sir  ;  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I  am  the  spirit  of  Peter 
Simpkins,  late  of  Buffalo,  N.  Y.  If  you 
made  inquiries  you  would  find  out  that  I  was 
a  well-known  contractor  and  builder  there, 
and  left  close  on  to  half  a  million,  which  my 
family  are  now  throwing  away  in  their  efforts 
to  get  into  society." 

"  Can't  you  exercise  some  spiritual  restraint 
over  them?"  I  inquired,  now  thoroughly  in 
terested  in  Peter  Simpkins  of  Buffalo. 

"No;  more's  the  pity.  I  was  master  of 
my  house  when  in  the  earth-life,  and  but  for 
one  reason  I  might  have  some  influence  with 
my  wife  and  children  now.  I  have  tried  to 
materialize  before  them  lots  of  times,  but  it's 
no  use.  They  have  never  felt  even  a  sugges 
tion  of  my  presence  since  I  passed  away. 
Their  goings-on  make  me  very  unhappy  in 
the  spirit-life,  but  I  have  another  affliction 
which  grieves  me  even  more.  You  see  I  am  a 
second-class  ghost." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Well,  I  was  born  bow-legged,"  he  said, 
apologetically.  Thereupon  he  parted  the 
sheet-like  garment  that  had  concealed  his 
19 


The  Bvw-Legged  Ghost 

form,  which  thus  exposed  the  phosphorescent 
skeleton  of  a  man  who,  wrhen  alive,  must  have 
tipped  the  scales  at  two  hundred  and  eighty 
pounds.  He  was  the  most  hopelessly  and 
ridiculously  bow-legged  individual  I  had  ever 
seen.  This  revelation  sorely  tempted  me  to 
laugh  outright,  but  the  intense  glance  from 
his  fiery  eyes  restrained  me. 

"  But  I  don't  see — "  I  began. 

"  It's  like  this,"  he  interrupted.  "  People 
who  are  badly  misshapen,  or  who  have  any 
physical  or  mental  abnormalities,  carry  them 
into  the  spirit  world  after  death.  And  let  me 
tell  you,  there  isn't  half  the  democracy  and 
social  equality  in  this  spirit-life  that  you  can 
enjoy  as  a  citizen  of  the  United  States.  When 
I  passed  over  into  the  spirit  world  I  was  not 
cordially  received  by  many  spirits  that  I  met. 
Some  looked  at  me  with  a  sneering  smile  ; 
others  writh  contempt.  I  observed  that  those 
who  did  give  me  a  welcome  were,  like  myself, 
not  physically  perfect,  or  else  they  were  out  of 
order  mentally.  When  you  come  to  the  spirit 
kingdom  you  will  find  for  yourself  that  caste 
will  exclude  you  from  the  higher  spirit  circles, 
unless  you  are  just  right.  The  spirit  aristoc 
racy  go  to  other  spheres  for  permanent  resi 
dence,  though  some  of  them,  out  of  curiosity 


7^hc  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

or  from  some  other  motive,  like  to  visit  earth 
scenes.  Yes,  sir,  .spirits  travel  on  their  shape 
just  as  much  as,  in  fact  more  than,  mortals  do 
on  earth.  Strange,  isn't  it?  Well,  I  am  a 
second-class  ghost,  because  I  am  bow-legged, 
and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

After  a  while  I  found  breath  to  say :  ' '  Mr. 
Simpkins,  I  need  not  assure  you  that  you  are 
the  first  materialized  spirit  I  ever  saw,  and  I 
cannot  summon,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
the  proper  words  to  express  to  you  my  thanks 
for  the  information  you  have  given  me.  Will 
you  grant  me  the  privilege  of  repeating  it,  in 
my  own  humble  way,  to  — 

"  Hist!  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Simpkins.  "Some 
one  is  coming.  Climb  over  this  stone  wall 
and  lie  down.  We  must  not  be  seen." 

His  cold,  bony  hand  clutched  my  arm  firmly, 
and  together  we  scaled  the  wall. 

"I'll  explain  later.     Don't  say  a  word." 

Lying  prone  on  the  soft  turf,  we  waited  in 
eager  silence.  Soon  the  sounds  of  footsteps 
and  elfish  voices  were  heard.  I  could  not  make 
out  what  was  said  by  those  who  passed.  It 
was  an  uncanny  jargon  enough.  After  they 
disappeared  down  the  turnpike,  Mr.  Simp- 
kins  whispered:  "The  two  spirits  that  just 
passed  I  know  very  well.  One  of  them,  Sam 


The  Bow -Legged  Ghost 

Larkin,  I  used  to  know  in  the  earth-life.  He 
lived  at  Elmira ;  kept  a  feed  store.  We  be 
longed  to  the  Knights  Templars,  and  that's 
how  I  came  to  know  him.  Sam  lost  his  left 
leg  at  the  Battle  of  Bull  Run,  and  his  right 
arm  at  the  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  which  ac 
counts  for  his  being  a  second-class  ghost. 
The  other  one  was  George  Tarbell  — '  Stam 
mering  George,'  they  call  him,  because  he 
stammers  worse  than  any  man  you  ever  heard. 
He  came  from  Kansas  City.  Just  raise  your 
head  a  little  and  you  can  look  through  a  chink 
in  the  wall.  Others  will  be  coming  along 
pretty  soon." 

Sure  enough,  in  a  little  while  a  scattered 
procession  of  loquacious  spirits  filed  by,  — 
some  of  them  unsightly  hunchbacks,  several 
deaf  and  dumb  ones,  as  I  could  see  by  the 
sign  manual  they  employed  ;  several  male  and 
female  cranks  and  lunatics,  as  Mr.  Simp- 
kins  afterward  informed  me,  and  divers  other 
ghostly  freaks  and  monstrosities,  including  a 
two-headed  colored  ghost,  concerning  whose 
earthly  identity  I  failed  to  learn — making  in 
all  seventy-five  grisly  spectres. 

Almost  stupefied  by  these  supernatural 
wonders,  I  still  retained  sense  enough  to  listen 
when  Mr.  Simpkins  began  to  speak  again, 


The  BO-JO -Legged  Ghost 

after  the  sounds  of  the  ghostly  procession 
died  away. 

"  Now,  of  course,  you  are  naturally  puzzled 
to  know  what  all  this  means.  I  can  enlighten 
you  in  a  few  words.  These  spirits  are  on 
their  way  to  the  Zion  Grove  Camp  Meeting 
grounds,  about  two  miles  west  from  here, 
where  will  be  held  to-night  the  Annual  Con 
vention  of  Unfortunate  Spirits.  I  have  been 
requested  to  act  as  chairman  of  this  meeting, 
and  am  expected  to  deliver  an  address.  I 
have  chosen  as  my  subject :  '  Can  Second-Class 
Ghosts  Be  Happy? '  You  see,  I  am  ambitious 
to  be  elected  the  president  of  the  association 
for  this  district,  which  numbers  about  twelve 
hundred  members.  But  there  are  twro  other 
candidates  for  the  office  which  lasts  for  three 
years.  There  —  now  I  must  be  going. ' ' 

I  desired  to  ask  Mr.  Simpkins  numerous 
other  questions ;  but,  seeing  that  he  was  de 
termined  to  depart,  I  said  :  "I  hope  you  will 
be  unanimously  elected,  sir.  By  the  way, 
would  it  be  asking  too  much  of  you  to  meet 
me  after  the  convention,  and  let  me  know 
whether  you  have  been  successful  ? ' ' 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  heaved  a  long  sigh, 
and  replied  :  ' '  The  session  may  last  till  day 
break  ;  but  if  it  adjourns  before  then,  since 
23 


The  Bo~jo-Lcgged  Ghost 

you  manifest  so  kindly  an  interest  in  my  wel 
fare,  I  will  promise  to  come  back  and  tell  you 
the  result.  But  you  must  not  stir  from  this 
spot.  Do  you  accept  the  conditions?" 

I  held  out  my  hand  as  a  signal  of  my  will 
ingness  to  bind  the  arrangement ;  but,  like 
George  Francis  Train,  he  shook  his  own  hands 
as  a  parting  greeting,  crawled  ponderously 
over  the  wyall,  and  soon  shambled  out  of  sight. 

Left  alone,  after  this  bewildering  encounter, 
my  mind  refused  to  be  coherent  in  the  least. 
I  became  acutely  nervous  as  I  have  been 
when  in  the  cruel  throes  of  insomnia.  Still 
with  a  strenuous  determination,  I  remained 
there,  awaiting  the  return  of  the  bow-legged 
ghost.  After  three  hours  of  torturing  sus 
pense,  I  espied  him  coming.  The  first  faint 
glimmer  of  the  dawn  made  him  more  vague 
and  shadowy  to  my  vision.  Clambering  over 
the  wall,  he  stood  before  me  — limp,  dejected, 
and  evidently  deeply  chagrined. 

"  Well,  W7hat's  the  good  word?  "  I  inquired, 
eagerly. 

This  was  Mr.  Simpkins'  gloomy  reply : 
"General  Norwich  was  elected  president. 
He  read  a  paper  describing  his  military 
achievements  at  the  Battle  of  Antietam,  where 
both  his  legs  were  shot  off.  The  assemblage 
24 


77ic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

went  wild  over  him,  and  elected  him  on  the 
first  ballot.  They  are  holding  a  jollification 
now.  After  all,  I  am  only  a  bow-legged 
ghost,  but  to  be  beaten  in  a  race  by  a  man 
without  any  legs  at  all  is  a  terrible  blow  to 
me.  I  shall  resign  from  the  association,  and 
devote  myself  hereafter  to  matters  entirely 
outside  of  politics.  Good-by. ' ' 

I  tried  to  call  him  back  to  ask  if  he  wrould 
meet  me  occasionally  on  my  nightly  rambles, 
but,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  the  bow-legged 
ghost  disappeared. 


When  Ezra  Sang  First  Bass 


One  of  the  Secrets  of  the  Choir 

shutters  of  Jenkins'  grocery  store  had 
been  up  an  hour  or  more,  and  the  little 
red- whiskered  proprietor  had  been  hint 
ing  as  openly  as  he  dared  to  half-a-dozen  of  his 
customers,  who  were  sitting  around  the  stove, 
that  he  would  like  to  go  home.  But  his  osten 
tatious  preparations  —  the  slamming  of  covers 
on  open  barrels  and  the  extinguishing  of  the 
lights  down  to  a  solitary  lamp  —  made  no  visi 
ble  impression  on  them.  For  the  squat,  little 
stove  still  radiated  a  hospitable  glow,  and  the 
air  of  the  room  was  comfortingly  blue  and 
fragrant  with  the  smoke  of  many  pipes. 

The  conversation,  which  had  languished 
while  there  had  been  an  occasional  customer 
to  sooth  the  nervous  proprietor,  suddenly  be 
came  brisk.  From  chickens,  it  naturally 
drifted  to  poultry  diseases,  and  thence  to  the 
uncertainty  of  life.  That  suggested  religion 
to  Tom  Quirk  ;  and  religion,  revivals  ;  and 
26 


When  Ezra   Sang  First  Bass 

revivals,  sinners.     So,  by  an  easy  transition, 
the  church  choir  came  up  for  discussion. 

Then  it  was  that  old  Uncle  Ezra,  who  had 
been  silent  through  it  all,  unlimbered  ponder 
ously,  as  properly  befitted  a  great  gun  of  the 
village. 

"  Reckon  I  never  told  ye  'bout  the  time  I 
was  a  bass  singer  ?  "  he  threw  out. 

A  respectful  chorus  of  "  Noes,"  and  "Tell 
us  about  it,  Uncle  Ez,"  answered  him.  Each 
member  of  the  party  settled  back  into  his 
chair  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  the  unhappy 
Jenkins  sat  down  on  a  cracker-box,  for  Uncle 
Ezra,  as  a  man  of  wealth  and  position,  was 
not  to  be  interrupted  nor  hurried. 

"Just  twenty-five  years  ago,  when  I  was 
in  my  prime,"  he  began,  after  a  preparatory 
cough,  "  the  Methodist  Church  was  built,  and 
John  Tate  undertook  to  organize  the  choir. 
They  called  him  the  'percenter,'  or  something 
of  that  kind.  'Tany  rate,  they  were  stuck 
for  a  bass  singer.  Every  one  they  invited  to 
try  for  the  position  failed.  At  last  some  one 
mentioned  my  name,  and  John  come  to  me 
and  asked  me  to  jine  'em.  At  first  I  stood 
out  right  and  said  'no,'  not  flatterin'  myself 
that  I  could  fill  the  bill  'tall.  I  knowed  one 
tune  from  another,  and  I  told  him  so  ;  but 


77ic  Bow-Legged  Gliost 

my  voice  was  weak  and  anything  but  deep  ; 
besides  at  that  time  I  had  a  little  tech  of 
asthma  once  in  a  while. 

' '  None  of  you  young  fellers  never  knowed 
John  Tate.  He  was  killed  by  the  Injuns  after 
he  went  West,  but  he  was  the  most  convincin' 
man  I  'bout  ever  see,  and  he  got  me  to  come 
to  church  that  night  and  try  over  some  of  the 
tunes.  I  remember  I  had  a  terrible  cold  that 
day;  it  was  deep  sot  and  my  voice  was  below 
zero,  so  to  speak. 

"Well,  seein'  as  I  had  promised,  I  went 
down  to  the  meetin'  house,  as  we  called  it  in 
them  days.  Matilda  Savory,  now  the  widow 
Plunkett,  was  there,  and  George  Delameter, 
who  was  to  be  the  tenor,  and  Rachel  Sliter, 
now  deceased,  and  Susan  Black,  who  I  had 
gallivanted  round  with  considerable,  and  had 
a  slinkin'  sweetness  for.  There  was  a  few 
others  I  don't  just  recollect  this  minute.  We 
first  attacked  that  hymn  runnin'  — 

'There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood.' 

"I  put  my  whole  soul  into  it,  and  all  the 
wind  I  could  muster.  They  was  all  surprised 
to  find  out  I  had  such  a  good  bass  voice,  and 
I  laughed  in  my  sleeve,  because  no  one  seemed 
to  notice  that  I  had  a  cold.  We  tried  several 
28 


When  Ezra   Sang  First  Bass 

pieces,  and  after  finishin,'  some  one  was  sure 
to  say  to  me,  '  Why  EZ,  I  had  no  idee  that  you 
had  such  a  splendid  bass  voice,'  and  another 
would  say  to  the  one  settin'  next,  '  We  couldn't 
get  along  without  Ez  ;  don't  his  voice  chord 
in  nice? ' 

"  You  can  believe  I  was  honored,  and  what 
made  me  feel  the  best  was  the  kinder  sup 
pressed  look  of  pride  on  Susan's  face.  For 
the  time  bein'  I  really  thought  I  could  sing 
like  a-a-  blackbird.  Yes,  that  was  the  com 
parison  I  made  to  myself.  You  see,  I  was 
thinkin'  of  Susan  ;  her  rear  name  was  Black, 
as  I  mentioned  afore. 

' '  This  was  on  a  Monday  night.  John  Tate 
told  us  to  meet  agin  on  Saturday  evenin'  to 
practice,  so's  we'd  be  able  to  make  the  new 
church  ring  with  devout  song  on  the  followin' 
day.  On  Tuesday,  my  cold  was  disappearin', 
and  my  normal  up-grade  voice  was  comin' 
back. 

' '  I  now  had  a  chance  to  consider  that  I  had 
made  a  mistake  in  joinin'  the  choir,  for  when 
the  time  should  come  for  me  to  make  a  public 
exhibition  of  myself  my  voice  would  be 
pitched  entirely  too  high.  Still  I  felt  that 
this  opportunity  to  become  popular  \vith  the 
church  folks  was  too  good  to  be  lost.  I  was 
29 


The  Bout-Legged  Ghost 

a  young  man,  anxious  to  be  a  success  in  busi 
ness  and  get  some  of  the  custom  which  went  to 
Andrew  Yates,  who  also  kept  a  grocery.  And 
so  I  made  this  resolve  :  that,  if  necessary,  I 
would  catch  another  cold  on  Saturday  rather 
than  resign  or  run  the  risk  of  singin'  in  no 
set  voice  on  the  comin'  Sunday. 

"Saturday  mornin'  arrived,  and  I  hadn't 
even  bio  wed  my  nose  since  Wednesday,  just 
afore  I  went  to  bed.  So  I  thro  wed  off  my 
coat  and  vest  and  scrambled  down  cellar, 
which  was  just  the  place  to  get  what  I  wanted. 
I  hired  a  little  boy  to  tend  store  and  I  sot  for 
nearly  an  hour  on  a  hogshead  of  molasses, 
sneezin'  away,  but  determined  not  to  give  up 
until  I'd  caught  a  first-rate  cold.  When  I 
came  upstairs  I  called  out  to  the  boy,  just  to 
see  how  my  vocal  organs  was  fixed,  and  they 
put  me  in  mind  of  a  big  bass  drum  that  I'd 
heard  once  in  a  travelin'  circus. 

"That  night  I  was  on  hand  punctual,  and 
received  many  more  compliments,  and  went 
home  with  Susan  chipper  as  a  butterfly.  For 
fear  I  wouldn't  be  hoarse  the  next  mornin', 
I  sot  in  the  open  window  of  my  chamber  with 
my  coat  and  vest  off,  gazin'  at  the  stars  and 
thinkin'  of  Susan  while  I  grew  hoarser  every 
moment. 

30 


When  Ezra   Sang-  first  Bass 

"  On  Sunday  mornin'  my  voice  was  in  good 
trim,  and  it  was  one  of  the  most  triumphant 
moments  of  my  life  as  I  stood  up  and  let  it 
swell  out,  while  all  the  people  down  below 
looked  up  and  watched  us  with  admiration  and 
envy.  My  throat  was  rather  sore  and  my  chest 
felt  tight,  but  I  paid  no  attention  to  them. 

"  The  choir  agin  met  on  Monday  night,  and 
my  voice  held  its  own.  During  the  rest  of 
the  week  I  laid  in  a  stock  of  soothin'  syrup 
and  camphor  and  other  medicines,  which  I 
used  pretty  lavish,  and  with  good  results. 
But  Saturday  come,  and  I  found  myself  hesi- 
tatin'  whether  to  go  down  cellar  agin  or  sever 
my  connection  with  the  choir  forever.  I  had 
observed  that  trade  had  picked  up  wonderfully 
within  a  few  days,  and  the  minister  himself 
had  dropped  in  and  asked  for  credit  on  a  pound 
of  cheese,  some  clothespins,  and  one  or  two 
other  articles — I  don't  just  recollect  this  min 
ute.  The  superintendent  of  the  Sabbath 
School  also  came  in  for  the  first  time  and 
bought  a  ham  and  a  gallon  of  sperm  oil.  If 
this  thing  continues,  thinks  I  to  myself,  I  can 
afford  to  catch  cold  for  a  few  weeks,  until  they 
can  get  a  natural  bass  singer,  and  down  cellar 
I  went,  leavin'  the  same  little  boy  to  tend 
store. 

31 


77ic  Boiv-Lcggcd  Ghost 

"Well  a  year  went  by,  and  I  was  still 
holdin'  forth  in  that  Methodist  choir.  My 
business  now  was  flourishin',  and  although 
Mr.  Yates  was  a  Christian,  the  church  people 
patronized  me  as  much  as  the}'  did  him  ;  for 
durin'  this  time  they  had  a  tremendous  revival 
down  at  Jericho  Center,  and  I  had  experienced 
religion.  By  bein'  in  the  choir  I  had  many 
chances  to  see  Susan  home,  which  would  not 
have  happened  otherwise  ;  and  I  valued  this 
circumstance,  for  my  regard  for  her  had  grad 
ually  deepened  into  a  sincere  and  unmistakable 
affection. 

' '  But  then  Susan  up  and  married  a  young 
justice  of  the  peace,  who  never  attended 
church,  and  was  a  bigger  sinner  than  I  ever 
dreamed  of  bein'.  This  took  Susan  out  of  the 
choir  and  left  me  desolate.  I  vowed  eternal 
celibacy,  and  I  didn't  care  who  set  the  Meth 
odist  Church  afire.  That  was  the  last  of  me 
as  a  bass  singer.  Why,  reckon  it  up,  and  see 
how  many  times  I  exposed  myself  to  diphthe 
ria,  bronchitis,  and  death,  and  not  a  livin' 
soul  was  in  the  secret.  I  got  so  scientific 
about  it  that  I  could  tell  how  many  sneezes 
would  make  me  hoarse  enough  to  strike  the 
lowest  note  in  '  Old  Hundred  '  without  strainin' 
for  it. 

32 


When  Ezra   Sang  First  Bass 

"But  one  thing's  been  sorter  botherin'  me 
all  these  years.  Suppose  Rachel  Sliter  should 
meet  me  in  Heaven.  The  very  first  thing 
she'd  say  would  be  'Well,  if  here  ain't  Ez 
Hix!  Come  here,  Ezra.  I  want  you  to  sing 
some  of  those  good  old  hymns  that  wre  used 
to  sing  in  the  Slackville  Methodist  Church.' 
That  would  be  just  like  Rachel." 

"Well,  Uncle  Ez,"  said  Tom  Quirk,  who 
had  been  the  old  man's  most  respectful  au 
ditor,  "you  could  have  'em  open  the  win 
dows  and  put  ice  on  you  when  you  was  dying, 
so  that  you  could  catch  cold  and  take  it  along 
with  you  and  sing  for  her. ' ' 


First    published    in    the     Philadelphia    Saturday   Evening 
Post. 


33 


The  Woman  in  Yellow 

CATKINS  had  been  telling  his  friend  Inge- 
low  about  an  eccentric  beauty  he 
had  met  in  the  mountains  during 
the  previous  summer,  and  Ingelow,  by  way  of 
a  fair  exchange,  narrated  to  Watkins  the 
story  of  Jessica  Brail,  whom  he  had  known 
from  childhood. 

' '  The  young  lady  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
about,"  began  Ingelow,  "is  endowed  with 
sufficient  charms  to  make  two  ordinary  society 
belles.  Perhaps  you  won't  believe  that,  but 
if  you  ever  see  her  you  will  indorse  the  appar 
ently  rash  statement  without  the  slightest 
hesitation.  She  is  a  perfect  blonde,  with 
Quaker-colored  eyes,  and  hair  of  infinite 
golden  sheen  and  fineness. 

' '  Shortly  after  her  debut,  which  was  the 
talk  of  society  at  the  time,  she  became  en 
gaged  to  a  promising  chap  by  the  name  of 
Jerome  Van  Dusen,  who  had  recently  come 
into  a  magnificent  fortune,  thanks  to  a  kind 
old  bachelor  uncle,  with  whom  Jerome,  being 

34 


The  Woman   in  Tello^v 

an  orphan,  had  lived  for  several  years.  No 
time  had  been  fixed  for  the  marriage,  and  it 
was  supposed  that  it  would  take  place  not 
under  a  year  or  so,  as  Jessica  was  but  eighteen 
when  she  became  affianced. 

' '  She  was  suddenly  seized  one  morning 
with  a  violent  and  strange  illness  which  baf 
fled  the  doctors.  For  weeks  she  lay  in  de 
lirium,  and  a  number  of  times  her  life  was* 
despaired  of.  But  finally  she  grew  better, 
and  when  she  had  quite  recovered  her  normal 
strength  and  health,  she  again  assumed  her 
old  place  in  the  social  whirl  where  she  had 
been  a  delight  and  a  dream. 

' '  But  in  some  ways  her  intimate  friends  ob 
served  that  Jessica's  illness  had  changed  her: 
Something  was  lacking  in  her  old-time  spon 
taneity.  Then,  too,  she  caused  gossip  by 
treating  young  Van  Dusen  in  a  shabby  man 
ner.  She  did  not  seem  to  be  conscious  of  her 
engagement  to  him.  She  held  him  at  arm's 
length,  so  to  speak,  and  repulsed  his  chival 
rous  attentions.  Of  course  Jerome  couldn't 
understand  wThat  it  was  all  about,  and  he 
could  get  little  satisfaction  out  of  Mrs.  Brail, 
to  whom  he  went  for  a  conference  on  the  sub 
ject.  Mrs.  Brail  expressed  herself  as  being 
very  much  worried  about  Jessica,  and  ended 
35 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

by  requesting  Jerome  not  to  be  quite  so  assidu 
ous  in  his  attentions  to  the  young  lad}-  for 
the  time  being. 

"Now,  the  chief  thing  in  which  Jessica 
manifested  her  eccentricity  was  in  her  complete 
mania  for  everything  yellow.  Wherever  she 
appeared,  she  was  gowned  in  yellow  from  head 
to  foot  —  gloves,  shoes,  and  all.  She  even 
discarded  her  diamonds  and  other  jewels  for 
yellow  gems.  She  frankly  confessed  she  pos 
sessed  more  than  a  mere  penchant  for  all 
things  yellow  ;  it  was  a  passion  with  her,  and 
one  over  which  she  had  no  control.  Rather 
alarmed  over  this  excessive  fad  of  her  daugh 
ter,  Mrs.  Brail  thought  it  would  be  a  wise 
policy  to  allow  Jessica  to  indulge  her  caprice 
in  this  direction,  instead  of  trying  to  restrain 
her,  and  so  she  offered  no  definite  protest 
when  the  young  lady  expressed  a  wish  to 
have  a  phaeton  all  yellow,  and  a  yellow  horse, 
yellow  harness,  and  yellow  whip.  With  Mrs. 
Brail's  abundant  resources  it  was  not  difficult 
to  obtain  the  phaeton,  harness,  and  whip,  but 
the  yellow  horse  was  not  so  easily  within 
reach . 

' '  However,  a  horse-dealer  of  large  experi 
ence,  procured  a  horse  that  would  pass  for  a 
yellow  nag,  except  for  a  few  white  spots  on  his 
36 


The   Woman   in  Yellow 

flanks.  Jessica  driving  through  Central  Park 
alone  in  her  peculiar  turnout  excited  no  end  of 
comment,  and  her  inexplicable  craze  for  yel 
low  was  duly  exploited  in  the  newspapers. 
Neither  gossip  nor  ridicule  had  any  effect  on 
Jessica.  She  bought  a  dozen  canary  birds  and 
as  many  yellow  wire  cages  one  afternoon,  and 
ordered  them  sent  to  her  home  on  Madison 
Avenue. ' ' 

"Oh,  come  off,  Ingelow!  Do  you  think 
you  can  stuff  me  in  this  way,  old  chap?  I 
say,  let's  have  some  more  brandy  and 
soda." 

' '  I  am  simply  repeating  facts.  Order  your 
drink  and  listen.  It  was  in  the  autumn  when 
this  queerness  of  Miss  Brail  was  first  mani 
fested.  She  and  her  mother  on  a  certain  night 
in  October  gave  a  swell  party.  What  do  you 
suppose  the  only  floral  decorations  consisted 
of?" 

"  Golden-rod,"  suggested  Watkins,  wearily, 
as  he  poured  his  club  soda  into  a  long  glass. 

"Precisely.  You  are  good  at  riddles,  old 
man.  Golden-rod  exclusively.  Of  course  Jes 
sica  was  garbed  entirely  in  yellow,  even  to  her 
lingerie.  Now  please  don' t  interrupt  me  again. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  this  young  woman  practi 
cally  carried  out  her  mania  even  in  the  matter 
37 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

of  eating.  She  was  fond  of  butter,  celery-tops, 
squash,  and  lemon  pie,  the  hard-boiled  yolks 
of  eggs,  all  kinds  of  yellow-colored  cake,  the 
inside  of  corn-bread,  Chablis,  Sauterne,  and 
Rhine  wines,  scrambled  eggs  and  plain  ome 
let,  and  other  edibles  and  drinkables  having  a 
yellowish  tinge.  Though  very  fond  of  litera 
ture,  she  never  read  other  than  yellow  covered 
or  bound  books ;  and  one  night  she  engaged  a 
squad  of  painters  to  come  and  cover  the  entire 
front  of  the  Brail  brownstone  mansion  with  a 
brilliant  coat  of  yellow.  The  next  day  several 
friends  and  relatives  of  the  family  called  and 
advised  the  now  nearly  distracted  Mrs.  Brail 
to  place  poor  Jessica  in  some  retreat.  This 
the  mother  refused  to  do.  But  she  did  resolve 
to  take  Jessica  on  a  journey  West,  perhaps  to 
California,  thinking  that  a  change  of  scene 
and  climate  would  benefit  her.  Jessica's  con 
sent,  strangely  enough,  was  easily  won.  They 
took  an  excursion  steamer  bound  for  San  Fran 
cisco  by  way  of  the  Horn.  Would  you  believe 
it,  Watkins,  on  board  that  steamer  Jessica 
met  her  fate  ?  ' ' 

"She  died,  eh?" 

' '  No.  She  met  a  man  whom  she  after 
ward,  not  long  afterward  either,  married  in 
'  Frisco.'  " 

38 


77i e  Woman   in  J'cllo-jo 

' '  What  became  of  Jerome  ? ' ' 

"  Well,  Jerome  had  became  disgusted  with 
her  antics  and  had  gone  off  to  Berlin  to  study 
diplomacy." 

"  Sensible  man  !  " 

' '  The  young  man  Jessica  became  acquainted 
with  aboard  the  steamer  Brazil  bore  the  name 
of  Uriah  Jeffrey.  He  was  a  struggling  inven 
tor,  who  had  nearly  killed  himself  with  hard 
work,  and  was  taking  the  voyage  for  his 
health.  A  severe  case  of  jaundice,  which 
made  him  somewhat  morbid,  afflicted  him, 
but  on  being  introduced,  Jessica  fell  in  love 
with  him  right  away." 

"I  see,"  put  in  Watkins,  drolly,  "because 
he  had  the  jaundice.  He  was  right  in  her 
line." 

"  And,"  proceeded  Ingelow,  not  paying  any 
attention  to  the  other's  interruption,  "  Uriah, 
of  course,  was  doubly  attracted  to  her  by 
reason  of  her  yellow  attire  and  belongings. 
So  they  fell  to  courting  without  any  consider 
able  delay,  satisfied  that  in  each  other  they 
had  found  their  true  affinity.  And  in  spite  of 
all  that  mamma  Brail  could  do  to  prevent  it, 
these  two  cooing  doves  plighted  their  troth 
before  reaching  the  Golden  Gate." 

' '  Is  that  all  ?  " 

39 


TJie  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

' '  The}7  were  married  quietly  in  San  Fran 
cisco  a  fortnight  after  their  arrival  there,  and 
a  few  days  later  returned  to  New  York.  Jef 
frey's  jaundice  gradually  disappeared  and  with 
it  his  wife's  mania  for  yellow.  She  is  now 
somewhat  prejudiced  against  that  color,  for 
she  feels  a  little  sensitive  over  her  foolish  ex 
cesses  with  it  —  when  she  was  not  quite  her 
own  sweet  self." 

"  Ingelow,"  drawled  Watkins,  after  finish 
ing  the  last  swallow  in  his  glass,  "you  are 
one  of  the  most  fearful,  wonderful,  and  con 
summate —  conversationalists  I  ever  listened 
to.  But,  by  way  of  giving  your  narrative  an 
artistic  finish,  why  didn't  you  have  Jessica 
take  the  Gold  Cure  for  her  malady  ? ' ' 


40 


An  Assumed  Weakness 

by  his  physical  and  psycho- 
J^l  logical  prowess  as  a  lady-killer,  Mr. 
Claude  Ormsby  some  years  ago  became 
less  delicate  and  subtle  in  his  methods  of  flirta 
tion  and  gradually  resorted  to  more  abrupt  and 
daring,  if  not  foolhardy,  experiments.  Mr. 
Ormsby  actually  ventured  one  afternoon  to 
wink  at  a  lad}'  he  thought  he  should  like  to 
know.  He  won  from  her  a  casual  sign  of 
recognition,  but  her  hasty  retreat  into  a  mil 
linery  establishment,  where  she  managed,  on 
pretense  of  being  vastly  interested  in  the  head 
gear  there  displayed,  to  remain  over  two 
hours,  satisfied  Mr.  Ormsby  that  it  would  be 
quite  futile  for  him  to  press  a  further 
acquaintance. 

But  he  continued  to  wink  at  women  whose 
personal  charms  appealed  to  him,  and  always, 
for  some  reason  it  is  unnecessary  to  exploit 
here,  with  his  left  eye.  His  success  in  this 
barbarous  and  discredited  style  of  wantoning 
varied  with  occasion  and  with  the  woman  he 
41 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

thus  saluted.  Often  it  was  far  from  any 
definition  of  triumph.  But  the  resentment  of 
virtuous  womanhood  neither  alarmed  nor 
chagrined  him. 

On  a  certain  bright  morning,  as  he  was 
passing  her  on  Fifth  Avenue,  Mr.  Ormsby 
winked  at  a  handsome  woman,  accompanied 
by  her  husband,  who,  be  it  said,  was  ardently 
devoted  to  her.  While  making  his  reckless 
and  insolent  overture,  Ormsby  did  not  par 
ticularly  notice  the  husband.  But  the  latter 
fairly  and  squarely  saw  Ormsby  indulge  in 
the  wink,  and  in  an  instant  the  blood  deserted 
his  cheek.  He  left  his  wife's  side,  stepped  up 
to  Ormsby,  and  grasped  him  by  the  arm,  with 
every  facial  assurance  that  it  was  his  immedi 
ate  intention  to  punish  the  offender.  Ormsby 
possessed  quick  perceptions,  but  he  was  no 
good  as  a  pugilist.  There  and  then  he  realized 
that  he  must  placate  the  gentleman  who  was 
clutching  him,  or  perhaps  suffer  untold  in 
juries.  So  meeting  the  incensed  husband's 
gaze,  Ormsby  gave  a  peculiar  wink  with  his 
left  eye,  the  optic  wrhich  had  excited  Mr. 
Bryan  Burdick's  vexation.  Mr.  Burdick  was 
surprised.  His  curdled  feelings  swirled  less 
violently  wnthin  him  when  Ormsby  winked 
again.  He  winked  with  his  left  eye,  in  what 

42 


An  Assumed  Weakness 

seemed  to  Mr.  Burdick  a  less  culpable  and 
more  guileless  way  than  he  had  winked  the 
first  time  at  Mrs.  Burdick. 

"Ah,  ha!"  thought  Mr.  Burdick,  "I  am 
foolishly  jealous  as  usual.  This  man  has  a 
nervous  defect  of  the  eye,  and  therefore  is  not 
responsible  for  what  otherwise  would  be  inex 
cusable.  Oh,  if  he  had  really  insulted  my 
wife,  I  should  —  "  But  Mr.  Burdick  did  not 
mentally  conclude  what  he  might  have  done. 
It  is  not  unreasonable  to  infer,  however,  that 
in  those  circumstances  he  would  have  proven 
a  cruel  assailant.  At  brief  intervals  Ormsby 
winked  his  left  eye  at  Mr.  Burdick,  wrho  began 
to  reproach  himself  for  having  taken  umbrage 
too  hastily  at  the  stranger,  for  he  was  now 
full}'  convinced  that  Ormsby  could  not  help 
winking  his  eye. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  apologized  Mr. 
Burdick.  "  I  at  first  wrongly  thought  you 
intended  to  insult  my  wife.  But  I  see  the 
action  of  your  left  eye  is  involuntary.  Believe 
me,  sir,  I  am  very  sorry  for  having  detained 
you.  Here  is  my  card." 

Ormsby  accepted  the  card  graciously,  and 
in  turn  handed  his  own  to  Mr.  Burdick. 

' '  It  wras  a  natural  enough  mistake  on  your 
part,"  said  Ormsby,  in  a  voice  of  remarkable 
43 


The  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

complaisance.  ' '  I  dare  say  you  may  find  my 
acquaintance  of  some  trifling  value.  My  ad 
dress  is  on  my  card.  Come  and  see  me  some 
time." 

As  though  further  to  atone  for  his  putative 
blunder,  Mr.  Burdick  introduced  his  wife  to 
Ormsby,  who  was  certainly  playing  his  part 
with  masterly  finesse. 

"I  am  charmed,"  observed  Mrs.  Burdick, 
with  a  dainty  bow,  "to  meet  you." 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  said  Ormsby,  his 
left  eye  winking  cautiously. 

Then,  after  the  exchange  of  a  few  common 
places,  Ormsby  went  on  his  way,  chuckling 
over  the  recent  encounter. 

Mr.  Burdick  made  inquiries  concerning 
Mr.  Ormsby  and  ascertained  that  he  belonged 
to  an  aristocratic  family,  his  father  being  an 
enormously  rich  banker.  Within  a  short  time 
Ormsby  and  the  Burdicks  became  warm 
friends.  He  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  their 
house,  and  dined  with  them  nearly  every 
Sunday.  He  was  careful  to  do  the  requisite 
amount  of  winking  whenever  in  their  pres 
ence —  an  effort,  by  the  way,  that  grew  at 
times  extremely  boorish  to  him.  But  he  hero 
ically  kept  up  the  delusion,  for  now  that  he 
was  intimate  with  the  Burdicks,  and  really 
44 


Aii  Assumed  Weakness 

liked  them,  he  dreaded  to  lose  their  friend 
ship. 

But  one  Sunday  Mr.  Burdick  caught  Ormsby 
napping,  as  it  were.  At  the  table  a  certain 
popular  novelist  happened  also  to  be  a  guest. 
The  novelist  was  feeling  in  excellent  spirits, 
having  the  day  before  sold  a  serial  story  to 
a  leading  magazine  for  a  good  price,  and  re 
ceived  the  cash  down  for  it,  and  his  bright 
talk  was  highly  entertaining,  especially  to 
Ormsby,  who  listened  in  rapt  attention.  In 
short,  he  became  so  absorbed  in  the  novel 
ist's  graphic  description  of  a  journey  he  had 
taken  the  previous  summer  in  Alaska,  that,  for 
the  time  being,  he  forgot  to  keep  his  left  eye 
at  its  allotted  task,  and  Mr.  Burdick  noticed 
it.  The  host  gazed  long,  though  somewhat 
furtively,  at  the  abstracted  Ormsby,  and  his 
wonder  increased  almost  to  consternation  as 
he  observed  that  Ormsby  seemed  to  have  his 
left  eye  under  perfect  control.  This  discovery 
mystified  him  and  rendered  him  so  curious  that 
he  interrupted  the  novelist  to  say  :  "Ormsby, 
you  don't  seem  to  be  winking  your  eye  as 
much  as  usual  to-day.  Have  you  discontinued 
that  interesting  performance  of  yours  ?  ' ' 

"Yes,  that  is — er  —  well  —  I've  had  an 
operation  performed,  you  know,"  stammered 
45 


The  Bo^u-Lcgged  Ghost 

Ormsby,  who  being  taken  entirely  by  surprise 
and  thrown  off  his  guard,  was  considerably 
frustrated.  ' '  My  eye  still  twitches  occasion 
ally,  however,"  he  added,  sufficiently  recover 
ing  secretly  to  congratulate  himself  upon  his 
ready  fabrication. 

"Oh,  indeed,"  put  in  Mrs.  Burdick,  quite 
ingenuously.  "Was  the  operation  painful, 
Mr.  Ormsby?" 

' '  Rather, ' '  he  replied,  with  a  wink  and  a 
smile,  that  were  boldly  significant,  but  which 
the  novelist  and  Mr.  Burdick,  if  they  noticed 
them,  must  have  considered  merely  symptoms 
of  affability  on  Ormsby 's  part. 

But  Mrs.  Burdick,  with  intuitive  celerity, 
discerned  the  similarity  of  that  wink  to  Orms 
by 's  first  wink  at  her  on  the  Avenue  months 
before.  She  instinctively  felt  from  that  mo 
ment  that  Ormsby  was  a  fraud,  and  he  imme 
diately  divined  that  she  felt  he  was.  A  slight 
blush  suffused  Mrs.  Burdick 's  beautiful  face. 
She  was  strongly  tempted  to  remark,  with  true 
feminine  sarcasm:  "It  seems  the  operation 
was  not  entirely  successful,"  but  she  choked 
back  the  words,  for  a  timely  thought  warned 
her  that  such  an  utterance  might  at  once  put 
her  husband  on  the  trail  of  his  former  suspi- . 
cion  as  to  Ormsby 's  insolence. 
46 


An  Assumed  Weakness 

"Doctor  Peters,  the  oculist,  thinks  I  shall 
be  able,"  ventured  Ormsby,  with  inward  des 
peration  and  outward  suavity,  "  to  gain  abso 
lute  government  of  my  eye  after  a  while." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Burdick, 
with  a  kind  of  insinuating  candor. 

Some  hours  later,  when  the  guests  had 
gone,  and  Mr.  Burdick,  half  irresolutely,  had 
driven  off  to  his  favorite  club,  Mrs.  Burdick 
thoughtfully  seated  herself  at  a  delicate  little 
rosewrood  desk,  and  after  wasting  two  or  three 
sheets  of  the  most  expensive  note  paper,  finally 
sealed  the  following  words,  addressed  to  Mr. 
Claude  Ormsby :  — 

Sir  :  —  You  have  played  a  cunning  game,  but  I 
have  found  you  out  at  last.  Some  women  might  ap 
plaud  you,  but  I  am  one  who  despises  you  for  having 
so  weak,  so  cowardly,  so  debased  a  left  eye.  By  all 
means  have  a  real  operation  performed,  Mr.  Ormsby  ; 
otherwise  you  may  deceive  some  one  yet,  who  has  not 
a  loving  husband's  protection.  Do  not  again  darken 
our  threshold  with  your  presence.  I  shall  not  breathe 
a  word  to  my  husband  of  your  last  insult  to  me,  at  the 
dinner-table  to-day,  if  you  do  not  again  attempt  to  in 
trude  upon  our  domestic  peace.  Remember  this  ! 

CLARISSA  BURDICK. 

In  the  privacy  of  his  own  chamber  Orms 
by 's  left  eye  assisted  his  right  one  to  read 
Mrs.  Burdick' s  unequivocal  message,  without 

47 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

any  predisposition  to  wink.  A  throb  of  dis 
appointment  passed  over  him  —  that  was  all. 
He  reached  for  a  silver  decanter  containing 
some  rare  Amontillado,  of  which  he  took  a 
liberal  draught. 

The  fact  is,  Ormsby  may  never  have  any 
dominant  influence  over  that  left  eye  of  his. 
When  he  strolls  down  Broadway  or  up  Fifth 
Avenue,  it  will  probably  wink  at  any  pretty 
damsel  or  dashing  married  woman,  as  of  old. 
A  queer  eye  has  Ormsby.  But  is  Ormsby  the 
only  man  you  ever  heard  of  who  has  a  queer 
eye? 

Will  this  eye  of  Ormsby's  finally  bring  him 
joy  or  woe?  Ah,  me  !  Perhaps  a  court  of 
justice  may  answer  that.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  possibly  ten  years  hence,  in  a  felicitous 
domestic  circle  of  his  own,  Ormsby  may  be 
found  —  still  winking,  though  with  less  sug 
gestion,  from  mere  force  of  habit. 


"Revels  of  the  Muses 


men  about  Gotham  town  may  be  ac- 
attainted  with  Harry  Hooker,  though 

i  " 

this  is  not  his  baptismal  name.  Not 
so  very  long  ago  he  was  a  prominent  club 
man,  but  only  at  rare  intervals  nowadays  is 
he  seen  in  his  old  haunts. 

After  coming  into  possession  of  a  patri 
mony  of  some  sixty  thousand  dollars,  Hooker 
shut  himself  up  in  his  den  and  began  work 
on  a  comic  opera,  which,  in  his  callow  esti 
mation,  would  eclipse  anything  of  the  kind 
ever  seen  on  the  American  stage.  The 
music,  more  or  less  reminiscent,  he  composed 
himself;  that  is  to  say,  he  thumped  out  mel 
odies  on  the  piano,  which  were  transcribed, 
arranged,  and  orchestrated  by  a  professional 
musician.  When  it  was  finally  finished  he 
christened  it,  "  Revels  of  the  Muses,"  a  title 
that  scarcely  indicated  the  shocking  antics 
through  which  the  inexperienced  young 
author  put  these  classic  damsels. 

First  published  in  The  Dramatic  A/itror. 
4  49 


The  Bo-jo-Legged  Ghost 

Hooker  submitted  his  libretto  and  score 
to  several  prominent  managers,  but  they  all 
shook  their  heads  negatively,  giving  various 
shrewd  excuses  for  not  even  examining  the 
piece.  Having  spent  two  months  in  vain 
quest  of  a  manager  who  would  give  him  a  fa 
vorable  hearing,  he  at  last  resolved  to  produce 
the  opera  at  his  own  expense.  It  was  now 
midsummer.  There  was  no  time  to  waste  if 
he  desired  to  make  all  the  necessary  prepara 
tions  for  an  autumn  opening. 

Through  a  dramatic  agency,  Hooker  secured 
the  services  of  doughty  Colonel  Rush  as  busi 
ness  manager.  The  stage  manager,  an  eccen 
tric  individual  by  the  name  of  Pragg,  gave 
valuable  assistance  in  suggesting  the  necessary 
scenery  and  in  selecting  the  designs  for  the 
costumes.  It  was  also  Pragg  who  insisted  on 
engaging  for  the  leading  female  role  his  old 
friend  Bertha  Watts,  whose  name  had  been  a 
famous  one  in  the  burlesque  world  a  few  years 
before,  but  who,  now,  in  reality,  was  rather 
too  passe,  not  to  say  obese,  for  the  rollicking 
part  of  Thalia.  However,  Pragg' s  entreaties 
prevailed,  and  Miss  Watts  was  engaged. 

Within  a  short  time,  the  newspapers  gave 
glowing  announcements  of  the  great  comic 
opera  by  Harry  Hooker,  Esq. ,  to  be  produced 
50 


"Revels  of  the  Muses'" 

early  in  October  at  the  New  Amsterdam  The 
atre.  Rehearsals  were  held  every  day,  and  in 
the  meantime  Hooker  decided  to  take  the  com 
pany  out  for  two  weeks  on  the  New  England 
circuit,  and  try  his  mental  offspring  "on  the 
dog,"  as  it  is  called  in  theatrical  parlance. 
Colonel  Rush  booked  the  ' '  show, ' '  which 
opened  in  Hartford,  September  21. 

During  the  tour  Hooker  had  little  or  no 
cause  to  be  gratified  with  the  reception  ac 
corded  his  opera.  The  press  roasted  it  with 
out  mercy,  and  the  meagre  audiences  that 
gathered  to  witness  it  went  away  dissatisfied. 
If  it  would  not  please  the  provincial,  how  could 
he  expect  to  please  the  metropolitan  with  it? 
The  production  had  cost  him  nearly  $20,000. 
Add  to  this  four  weeks'  rental  of  the  New 
Amsterdam  Theatre  and  other  expenses,  as 
suming  that  there  would  be  little  or  no  busi 
ness,  and  he  would  lose  anywhere  from  $10,000 
to  $20,000  more.  This  ominous  state  of  af 
fairs  set  Hooker  to  thinking. 

Now  it  happened  that  he  had  come  into  pos 
session  of  a  book  entitled  ' '  A  List  of  the  Bald- 
Headed  Men  of  New  York,"  which  some 
individual,  with  an  abnormal  amount  of  pa 
tience,  had  compiled  and  put  on  the  market. 
The  book  which  gave  the  names  and  addresses 

51 


The  B&w-Legged  Ghost 

of  over  one  hundred  thousand  Xew  York  men 
who  are  baldheaded  had  interested  Hooker, 
irrespective  of  its  statistical  accuracy,  because 
he  had  a  tendency  to  baldness  himself.  He 
now  conceived  the  idea  of  reserving  the  first 
three  rows  of  orchestra  seats  in  the  Xew 
Amsterdam  every  night  of  the  run  of  his 
opera  for  bald-headed  men  of  Xew  York  to 
whom  he  would  send  "  complimentaries." 
For  instance,  for  the  opening  night,  October 
12,  he  would  send  as  many  free  tickets,  each 
with  a  coupon,  as  there  were  seats  in  the  first 
three  rows  of  the  orchestra  ;  for  the  second 
night  as  many  more,  and  so  on,  checking  off 
in  the  book  each  name  as  fast  as  the  tickets 
were  sent  out,  thus  avoiding  repetition. 

Well,  Hooker  actually  set  this  plan  into 
operation,  sending  out  for  different  dates  over 
ten  thousand  complimentaries.  He  kept  the 
secret  to  himself  until  the  opening  night,  when 
a  large  throng  came  to  see  "  Revels  of  the 
Muses"  at  the  Xew  Amsterdam. 

For  several  minutes  before  the  overture  be 
gan,  it  was  seen  that  an  unusual  number  of 
baldheaded  men  had  taken  seats  in  the  first 
three  rows  of  the  orchestra  chairs.  Every 
minute  more  baldheaded  men  joined  their 
brethren,  and  the  audience  commenced  a 


"Revels  of  the  3 fuses  " 

guarded  titter,  which  soon  broke  forth  into  a 
perfect  gale  of  prolonged  laughter.  The 
bald  headed  men  themselves  immediately  be 
came  aware  that  they  formed  a  curious  phal 
anx,  and  nearly  all  of  them  commingled  their 
merriment  with  the  rest  of  the  hilarious  audi 
ence. 

;'This  is  a  pretty  rich  joke  on  us,"  said 
one  red-faced  old  chap  to  another,  who  sat 
alongside  in  the  second  row. 

"I  think  it  a  most  impertinent  piece  of 
business,"  snarled  the  man  addressed.  He 
was  in  evening  dress,  while  his  neighbor, 
who  thought  the  whole  thing  a  jolly  lark, 
was  garbed  in  a  snuff-colored  business 
suit. 

Just  as  the  curtain  was  about  to  go  up,  a 
tall,  fine-looking  man,  with  a  smooth  pate, 
went  down  the  centre  aisle,  but  halted  short 
about  midway  to  his  seat  on  seeing  the  three 
rows  of  more  or  less  shining  heads  in  front. 
His  look  of  utter  astonishment  soon  altered 
into  a  broad  smile  of  amusement,  and  then 
quickly  turning  about  he  retraced  his  steps 
toward  the  lobby,  pursued  by  such  advice 
from  the  gallery  gods  as,  "Don't  go  home, 
bald)r!  Take  your  medicine  like  the  rest! 
Don't  be  a  coward,"  etc.,  etc. 

53 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Hooker  had  not  let  any  of  the  company 
into  the  secret,  and  the  consequence  was  that 
they  were  all  convulsed  when  they  saw  the 
gentlemen  in  front.  Even  Pragg  was  quite 
overcome  for  a  few  minutes.  One  of  the 
members  of  the  orchestra,  the  trombone 
player,  a  little  earlier  had  slipped  out  of  his 
place,  fearing  he  might  die  of  strangulation 
from  laughing,  if  he  remained.  But  he  soon 
returned,  his  old  stolid  self. 

All  the  ladies  in  the  audience  were  particu 
larly  amused  by  the  exhibit,  and  the  opera 
was  merely  a  tame  side-show  in  comparison. 
By  way  of  trying  to  recover  her  composure, 
Bertha  Watts  advanced  to  the  footlights  and 
indulged  in  the  impromptu  remark:  "  I'm  so 
glad  to  see  so  many  of  my  personal  friends 
here  to-night,"  and  it  tickled  the  people  more 
than  any  lines  or  business  in  the  opera. 

It  was  an  evening  of  wild  and  unrestrained 
merriment.  A  few  of  the  baldheaded  gentle 
men  did  not  appear  to  enjoy  the  occasion  at 
all,  keeping  their  eyes  stoically  and  steadfastly 
on  the  actors,  and  two  or  three  of  them  rose 
and  marched  defiantly  out  of  the  house.  But 
most  of  them  entered  heartily  into  the  spirit 
of  the  hour,  and  even  poked  fun  at  each 
other. 

54 


^ Revels  of  the  Pluses' 

Toward  the  end  of  the  last  act,  Colonel 
Rush  nudged  Hooker,  who  was  standing  in 
the  rear  of  the  auditorium,  and  whispered  : 
"  I  think  you  are  a  genius." 

I  wish  I  had  space  in  which  to  quote  some 
of  the  notices  of  the  opera  that  appeared  in 
the  next  morning's  papers.  The  critics  w7ho 
had  been  present  were  unanimous  in  saying 
that  they  never  had  had  so  much  fun  in  their 
lives.  They  were  careful  to  inform  the  pub 
lic  that  their  fun  was  not  derived  so  much 
from  Mr.  Hooker's  piece  as  from  the  gentle 
men  in  the  first  three  rows. 

Of  course  many  of  the  baldheaded  men  in 
vited  for  the  second  performance,  who  read 
these  accounts  in  the  press,  were  vastly  puz 
zled.  But  after  a  little  meditation  nearly  all 
of  them  concluded  to  visit  the  theatre,  if  only 
to  experience  the  feeling  of  being  in  the  pres 
ence  of  between  two  or  three  hundred  other 
bald  men.  In  consequence,  there  were  only 
three  or  four  vacant  chairs  in  the  first  three 
rows  of  the  orchestra  at  the  New  Amsterdam 
on  the  second  night  of  the  famous  run  of 
"  Revels  of  the  Muses." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  before  it  was  time  for 
the  curtain  to  rise,  "Standing  room  only" 
was  placarded  outside  the  theatre,  and  it 
55 


The  Bow-Legged  GJiost 

might  as  well  be  said  now  that  this  announce 
ment  was  posted  of  absolute  necessity  every 
night  to  the  closing  performance. 

Even  Hooker,  who  is  older  but  not  much 
wriser  than  he  was  then,  will  admit  that  it  was 
not  his  comic  opera  that  people  came  to  see, 
but  the  interesting  contingent  of  gentlemen 
who  were  always  in  evidence  down  in  front. 
The  scheme  served  to  develop  the  moral  cour 
age,  or  rather  the  sang  froid,  of  many  a  bald- 
headed  bachelor,  who,  before  meeting  with  his 
fellows  in  this  happy  camaraderie,  had  been 
wretchedly  sensitive  concerning  what  he  re 
garded  as  a  sore  and  unmerited  affliction. 

Hooker  left  the  metropolis  for  ' '  green  fields 
and  pastures  new,"  with  over  $40,000  of  prof 
its  from  his  opera.  He  visited  all  the  large 
cities,  and  in  even-  theatre  where  his  company 
played  there  were  baldheaded  men  in  the  first 
three  row7s.  It  was  the  advance  man's  busi 
ness  to  provide  complimentaries  to  these  gen 
tlemen  in  every  city  visited.  They  appreciated 
the  comical  honor,  speaking  generally,  just  as 
much  as  had  the  liberal-minded  New  Yorkers. 
Other  theatrical  troupes  tried  to  imitate 
Hooker,  but  none  of  them  ever  succeeded. 
He  grew  independently  rich  in  three  seasons 
and  retired  in  time,  just  as  the  novelty  of  his 
56 


"Revels  of  the  Muses" 

idea  had  begun  to  tarnish.  He  spends  most 
of  his  time  in  southern  Europe  where  the  cli 
mate  agrees  best  with  his  rather  delicate 
health. 

Bertha  Watts  is  the  wife  of  an  old-time  ad 
mirer, —  a  baldheaded  man  by  the  way, —  and 
lives  in  a  cozy  Harlem  flat. 

Poor  Pragg  is  buried  in  the  Actors'  Plot  in 
Evergreens. 

Colonel  Rush  goes  about  New  York,  a  crusty 
old  man,  always  kicking  himself  for  not  hav 
ing  been  the  originator  of  Hooker's  scheme. 

The  manuscript  and  all  the  part  books  of 
"Revels  of  the  Muses"  were  long  since  re 
duced  to  ashes. 


The  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

"Around  thai  neck  ^vhat  dross  are  gold  and  pearl !''  —  Young. 

I 

"  W  THINK  I  know  the  most  beautiful  woman 

Ms>  in  New  York  city,"  remarked  Dave 
Hartley  to  his  three  companions,  who 
were  sitting  in  the  rear  parlor  of  the  Amster 
dam  Club  before  a  bright,  crackling  coal  fire. 
' '  She  belongs  to  the  Lillian  Russell  type  ;  that 
is  to  say,  she  is  a  pronounced  blonde.  I  wish 
you  could  see  her,  boys,  just  once.  You 
would  simply  rave  over  her. ' ' 

"How  old  is  she?"  inquired  Bob  Ritchie, 
taking  another  pull  at  his  Vichy  and  milk. 

"  About  twenty,  I  should  judge.  But  there 
is  no  use  talking  about  Mabel  Olcott  —  she's 
engaged." 

' '  You  are  a  nice  one  to  get  our  interest 
roused  concerning  a  young  woman  and  then 
coolly  tell  us  she's  engaged." 

Sydney  Van  Loan  smiled.  He  knew  Mabel 
Olcott.  One  of  his  very  best  friends,  Jack 
58 


Tli c  Belle  of  tlie  Dinner 

Church,  was  the  lucky  mortal  to  whom  Mabel 
was  betrothed. 

"Blondes  never  interested  me,"  observed 
Charlie  Townsley.  "  My  affections  have  al 
ways  been  centred  on  brunettes.  They  have 
so  much  more  intensity  and  force  of  character. 
But  the  handsomest  one  I  ever  knew  died  sev 
eral  years  ago. ' ' 

"I'll  tell  you,  boys,"  said  Van  Loan,  in  a 
drawling  voice,  "what  we  might  do  to  break 
the  monotony  of  life.  Suppose  we  order  a 
swell  dinner  at  Viadello's  and  each  bring  as 
pretty  a  woman  as  he  can  find.  We  will  make 
a  wager  of  $200  apiece  and  place  the  money  in 
the  hands  of  a  stakeholder,  say  Percy  Porter, 
whom  we  will  invite  to  the  banquet  and  who 
will  also  act  as  umpire.  The  fellow7  who 
brings  the  most  beautiful  woman,  according  to 
Percy's  judgment,  pockets  the  money.  What 
do  you  say  ?  ' ' 

"Capital  scheme,"  put  in  Charlie  Towns- 
ley,  who  once  had  been  a  suitor  for  the  hand 
of  Percy  Porter's  beautiful  wife. 

"  Each  man  shall  stand  one-fourth  of  the 
expense  of  the  dinner,"  suggested  Dave  Hart 
ley,  "in  addition  to  the  amount  of  the 
wager. ' ' 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Van  Loan. 


The  Botv-Legged  Ghost 

"There  is  one  objection  to  this  enterprise, 
and  a  grave  one,"  urged  Bob  Ritchie.  "  I  am 
not  so  certain  that  Percy  Porter  is  qualified  to 
judge  of  feminine  beauty  any  better  than  the 
rest  of  us.  What  would  please  his  eye  and 
taste  perhaps  would  not  appeal  to  me. ' ' 

"Oh,  so  far  as  that  goes  it  will  be  as  fair 
for  one  as  for  the  other,"  said  Van  Loan. 
"  Besides,  Percy  has  made  a  name  for  himself 
as  a  painter,  particularly  of  women's  portraits, 
and  wre  couldn't  secure  a  more  competent  and 
impartial  judge." 

There  was  no  further  dissent  to  the  rather 
novel  proposition,  and  it  was  an  easy  matter 
to  appoint  a  day  for  the  dinner,  the  furnishing 
of  which  was  left  to  Signer  Viadello,  with  the 
request  that  it  be  in  his  best  style.  Percy 
Porter,  enjoined  to  secrecy  concerning  the 
whole  affair,  gladly  consented  to  act  as  stake 
holder  and  umpire,  and  in  his  keeping  was  de 
posited  eight  hundred  dollars. 

November  loth  was  the  date  of  the  dinner, 
and  the  gentlemen  concerned  had  a  fortnight 
in  which  to  scour  the  community  for  the  most 
available  types  of  feminine  loveliness.  Let  us 
see  in  what  manner  each  proceeded. 

Sydney  Van  Loan,  the  proposer  of  the 
affair,  was  a  rich  young  man  about  town,  with 
60 


The  Belle  of  the.   Dinner 

no  regular  pursuit  but  that  of  pleasure.  He 
had  already  sown  his  wild  oats,  and  was  grad 
ually  settling  down  to  the  jog-trot  pace  which 
is  so  difficult  for  many  young  men  to  acquire. 
The  day  after  the  wager  was  made,  Van  Loan 
called  at  a  rather  unseasonable  hour  on  Miss 
Olcott,  but  they  were  old  friends  and  he  felt 
confident  that  she  would  receive  him.  She 
came  into  the  drawing-room,  dressed  in  a  be 
witching  tea-gown,  and  shook  hands  with  him 
informally. 

' '  I  know  you  will  pardon  my  coming  so 
earl}',  Mabel,  when  I  tell  you  my  errand." 

"You  are  always  welcome  here,  Sydney,  I 
am  sure." 

"Well,  you  see,  it's  like  this:  four  of  us 
fellows  at  the  club  yesterday  afternoon  made 
a  bet,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  out." 

' '  How  ? ' ' 

' '  The  man  that  escorts  to  a  certain  dinner, 
to  be  given  November  loth,  at  Viadello's,  the 
finest  looking  woman,  wins  the  bet  ;  see?  " 

"  How  jolly!     But  who  is  to  decide?  " 

"Oh,  we  have  selected  an  umpire,  and 
everything  is  arranged,  except  the  most  im 
portant  thing  of  all  —  the  ladies." 

' '  But  how  can  I  help  you  ? ' ' 

' '  By  going  with  me  to  the  dinner. ' ' 
61 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Miss  Olcott  laughed  amusedly,  and  then, 
becoming  quite  serious,  remarked  :  "Sydney, 
I  have  never  had  any  ambition  to  pose  as  a 
professional  or  prize  beauty. ' ' 

"  I  know  that,"  answered  Van  Loan,  "but 
it's  all  in  fun.  We'll  have  a  good  dinner  and 
no  end  of  sport.  Come,  now,  Mabel,  give  me 
your  promise  to  go  with  me,  and  I'll  never  ask 
another  favor  of  you." 

' '  Who  are  the  other  fellows  ?  ' '  inquired 
Miss  Olcott,  not  quite  sure  that  she  liked  the 
idea. 

"  Oh,  Dave  Hartley,  Charlie  Townsley,  and 
Bob  Ritchie  —  all  clever,  respectable  chaps,  I 
assure  you." 

"I  know  of  them.  My  brother  Will  is  a 
great  friend  of  Dave  Hartley.  Oh,  clear,  I 
don't  know  what  to  say  ;  I  should  dislike  to 
disappoint  you,  Sydney,  but  there's  something 
about  it  that  seems,  well,  sort  of  irregular, 
don't  you  know?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  woman,  it's  only  an  inno 
cent  lark.  Please  say  yes. ' ' 

' '  I  am  sure  Jack  would  not  give  his  con 
sent." 

"Nonsense.  Do  you  suppose  my  dearest 
friend  will  object  to  my  showing  his  fiancee 
this  little  attention  ?  But  why  tell  Jack  until 
62 


TJic  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

after  the  dinner?  It  will  be  delightful  news 
to  him,  for  I  certainly  shall  win  the  bet  if  you 
are  my  guest." 

"Base  flatterer!"  exclaimed  Miss  Olcott, 
archly.  Just  then  it  occurred  to  her  that  only 
two  days  before,  she  and  Jack  had  had  a 
lovers'  row,  in  which  heart  wounds  had  been 
given  that  were  still  unhealed.  It  would  do 
Jack  good  to  see  that  she  had  some  spirit,  that 
he  was  not  the  only  man  in  the  \vorld  (  though 
in  the  recesses  of  her  soul  this  was  her  con 
viction  ).  Sydney  waited  patiently  for  her 
answer,  which  finally  came  in  this  wise  : 
"  Sydney,  you  have  always  been  a  good  friend 
of  mine,  and  if  you  think  it  will  not  compro 
mise  me  in  any  ever  so  little  a  way,  I  will  go 
with  you." 

Van  lyoan  soon  assured  her  that  she  would 
have  no  cause  to  regret  her  decision,  and  ex 
ultantly  left  the  Olcott  mansion,  having  re 
ceived  her  word  that  she  would  not  breathe  a 
syllable  to  Jack  Church  until  the  dinner  was 
a  thing  of  the  past. 

Charlie  Townsley,  who  possessed  a  pro 
nounced  fondness  for  the  brunette  type,  was 
the  junior  member  of  a  banking  firm  in  Wall 
Street.  He  was  a  popular  young  man  ;  every 
one  spoke  of  and  about  him  in  terms  of  com- 
63 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

mendation.  He  was  well  educated,  but  for 
professional  work  he  had  no  aptitude.  He 
had  worked  his  way  up  in  the  bank  from  an 
obscure  clerkship,  and  it  was  while  he  was 
serving  in  a  subordinate  capacity  that  he  had 
paid  court  to  Miss  Christine  Rockwell,  now 
Airs.  Percy  Porter.  This  lady  had  refused  his 
offer  of  marriage,  not  that  she  loved  him  less, 
but  that  she  loved  Percy  Porter  more.  Percy 
was  romantic  and  brilliant,  and  these  qualities 
appealed  more  powerfully  to  her  than  the 
equally  deserving,  but  different  attributes  of 
Charlie  Townsley.  Later  on  Townsley  had 
inherited  a  considerable  fortune  from  his 
father,  but  he  remained  in  the  banking  house 
and  worked  as  hard  as  ever,  day  by  day,  con 
vinced  that  "it  is  better  to  wear  out  than  to 
rust  out."  His  hours,  however,  were  easy, 
and  he  had  as  much  leisure  on  his  hands  as  he 
knew  wrhat  to  do  with.  Since  his  rejection  he 
had  never  ceased  to  think  of  Christine  with 
adoration.  And  what  is  rather  singular,  after 
her  marriage  he  was  a  frequent  guest  at  her 
house.  Percy  liked  him  and  admired  his 
sterling  qualities.  In  view  of  these  particu 
lars,  what  could  have  been  more  natural  than 
the  temptation  which  came  to  Townsley  to  ask 
Mrs.  Porter  to  accompany  him  to  that  dinner. 
64 


77tc  Belle  of  tlie  Dinner 

He  weighed  the  pros  and  cons  for  two  days 
before  reaching  a  conclusion  that  was  satis 
factory,  and  then  he  called  on  Mrs.  Porter. 
Barring  the  family  servants,  she  was  alone  in 
the  house. 

"  An  unexpected  pleasure,"  was  her  greet 
ing.  ' '  Take  this  chair,  —  I  think  you  wrill  find 
it  comfortable,  — and  I  wdll  sit  by  the  window. 
Now  tell  me  something  interesting." 

For  a  moment  Townsley  gazed  at  her  in 
silence.  Yes,  she  was  the  same  beautiful 
woman  to  whom  he  had  offered  his  name  and 
love  seven  years  before.  There  was  scarcely 
any  change  in  her,  unless  it  was  a  slightly 
expanded  figure.  The  luminous,  speaking 
black  eyes,  with  their  long  silken  lashes  and 
gracefully  curving  brows  ;  the  plentiful  mid 
night  hair  coiffured  in  a  becoming  mode  pe 
culiarly  her  own ;  the  proud,  well-bred  nose, 
with  distended  nostrils ;  the  rosy,  delicate, 
sensitive  mouth  ;  the  creamy,  olive  skin  ;  the 
ravishing  dimple  ;  the  dainty,  pink,  shell-like 
ears  — these  had  not  changed  ;  nor  had  her 
vivacity,  which  illumined  her  features  and 
gave  to  her  personality  an  irresistible  charm. 
She  had  been  perfectly  happy  in  her  married 
life ;  she  had  not  grown  narrow,  as  some 
wives  do. 

5  65 


The  BO-JO -Legged  Ghost 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  at  once  the  object  of 
my  visit.  Sydney  Van  Loan,  Dave  Hartley, 
Bob  Ritchie,  and  myself,  all  of  whom  you 
know,  I  believe,  are  to  give  a  dinner  at  Yia- 
dello's  on  November  loth.  Each  of  us  has 
agreed  to  escort  to  this  dinner  the  most  beau 
tiful  woman  he  can  secure  for  the  occasion. 
A  gentleman,  who  is  none  other  than  your 
esteemed  husband,  is  to  act  as  umpire,  that  is, 
he  is  to  decide  which  of  the  four  women  pres 
ent  is  the  most  beautiful,  in  his  opinion.  The 
winning  lady's  escort  is  to  receive  the  full 
amount  of  a  wager  —  $800  —  which  has  been 
made  among  us.  Now,  Mrs.  Porter,  would  it 
seem  amiss  if  I  humbly  asked  for  your  coin- 
pan}-  on  that  occasion  ? ' ' 

"  It  would  seem  amiss  if  I  didn't  go,  Char 
lie,  under  your  gallant  protection,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Porter,  as  she  handed  him  a  spray  of 
mignonette,  taken  from  a  little  bunch  placed 
in  her  corsage.  ' '  I  shall  be  perfectly  de 
lighted  to  accompany  you.  Won't  it  be 
merry?  But,  understand,  Charlie,  I  am  too 
old  a  woman  to  have  any  serious  pride  in  the 
competition  ;  and  you  say  Percy  will  be  there  ! 
Strange  he  hasn't  mentioned  a  word  about  it 
to  me." 

"Of  course,"  said  Townsley,  his  voice 
66 


The  IJcllc  of  the  Dinner 

trembling  with  inward  elation  over  her  accept 
ance  of  his  invitation,  "I  shall  speak  to 
Percy,  so  that  he  will  not  — 

"  Please,  do  not  say  a  word  to  Percy.  My 
poor,  honest,  old  Charlie  boy,  don't  you  see  it 
will  spoil  all  my  fun,  if  you  do?  I  want  to 
surprise  Percy  —  he's  so  blase,  you  know." 

"  All  right.  If  you  prefer  me  to  say  noth 
ing  to  him,  I'll  keep  mum.  Only,  I  would 
not  offend  him  for  the  world." 

"Oh,  Percy  is  anything  but  thin  skinned. 
Don't  let  that  worry  you.  I  shall  have  a  new 
gown  made  especially  for  the  dinner.  Let  me 
see.  Oh,  yes,  lavender  is  your  favorite  color  ; 
it  shall  be  a  lavender  silk,  Marie  Antoinette 
style,  ct  cetera.  I'll  try  not  to  disgrace  you, 
Charlie." 

And  in  a  similar  strain  Mrs.  Porter  rattled 
on  until  Townsley,  murmuring  his  thanks, 
departed  in  no  little  confusion. 

Dave  Hartley  went  to  work  to  obtain  his 
queen  of  beauty  in  quite  a  different  way  from 
the  others.  Though  several  years  older  than 
any  of  his  confreres,  he  was  more  of  a  Bohe 
mian  than  all  of  them  put  together.  Well 
connected  so  far  as  family  ties  were  concerned, 
he  was  essentially  a  man's  man  and  made  no 
pretense  of  keeping  in  touch  with  the  conven- 
67 


The  BO-JJ- Legged  Ghost 

tionalities  of  society.  Dave  possessed  suffi 
cient  tact  andjinesse  for  a  carpet  knight,  if  his 
tastes  had  led  him  in  that  direction ;  but 
roughing  it  in  the  West  and  aimless  wander 
ing  in  foreign  lands  had  given  him  a  cosmo 
politan  independence  of  character.  He  lived 
on  a  comfortable  annuity  left  by  a  bachelor 
uncle  who  had  been  a  partner  in  the  wholesale 
mercantile  house  of  Hartley,  Hartley  &  Co., 
of  which  his  father  remained  the  head.  He 
usually  passed  his  winters  in  New  York,  and 
the  rest  of  the  year  he  traveled  whither  his 
fancy  listed.  As  a  consequence  of  this  mode 
of  life,  Dave  Hartley's  list  of  beautiful  women 
friends  and  acquaintances  in  the  metropolis  was 
extremely  limited.  Soon  after  making  the 
wager  he  became  painfully  aware  of  this  fact. 
It  is  true  he  had  met  Mabel  Olcott  two  or 
three  times,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  of  her 
brother  Will.  But  it  was  simply  out  of  the 
question  to  ask  her — an  engaged  girl  —  to  go 
with  him  to  that  dinner.  Moreover,  he 
doubted  whether  the  personal  quality  of  the 
women  who  would  be  there  would  harmonize 
very  well  with  her  refined  nature  —  even  sup 
posing  she  were  not  engaged  and  would  be 
willing  to  accompany  him.  But  Dave  was 
not  discouraged  by  the  fact  that  he  knew  no 
68 


77/6'  llelle  of  the  Dinner 

beautiful  woman  who  was  available  for  his 
present  purpose.  His  ready  brain  fell  to 
thinking,  and  soon  he  conjured  up  a  method. 
In  a  prominent  Sunday  newspaper  he  caused 
to  be  inserted  in  the  personal  column  the  fol 
lowing  notice  :  — 


T^OUR  CLUB  MEN  HAVE  A  BET  AS  TO  WHO 
1  will  bring  the  handsomest  woman  to  a  dinner  in 
New  York  ;  some  beautiful  creature  can  make  $100 
and  have  a  good  dinner  ;  no  nonsense  ;  state  age,  give 
description,  and  send  photograph.  Address  EUREKA, 
Post  Office  Box  18333,  ^ew  York  City. 


Dave  had  hired  that  box,  and  two  days 
after  the  notice  was  published  he  visited  the 
post  office  for  his  mail.  He  found  sixty-seven 
letters  awaiting  him,  in  every  one  of  which  ex 
cept  two  photographs  were  inclosed,  the  others 
promising  to  send  them  in  a  few  days.  Mr. 
Hartley's  heart  fluttered  with  hope  as  he 
stuffed  the  missives  into  his  pockets  and  re 
turned  to  his  carriage.  He  did  not  open  any 
of  them  until  he  had  reached  his  own  sleeping 
apartment,  in  his  father's  house  on  Madison 
Avenue,  and  had  locked 'the  door.  Then  he 
tore  them  open,  one  by  one,  read  the  various 
communications  they  contained,  and  critically 
69 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

scrutinized  the  counterfeits  of  the  writers. 
Some  of  the  letters  were  well  worded  and  fas 
cinating,  but  usually  the  photographs  of  the 
writers  proved  them  to  be  anything  but  beau 
tiful.  On  the  other  hand,  there  were  several 
photographs  of  women  who  seemed  beautiful, 
but  whose  letters  were  abominable  in  liter 
ary  construction,  orthography,  and  chirog 
raph  y. 

For  several  days  Dave  found  a  mild  diver 
sion  in  riding  down  to  the  post  office  for  his 
mail,  but  most  of  his  letters  and  nearly  all  of 
the  photographs  were  simph"  irritating.  At 
length  one  morning,  when  his  mail  had  begun 
to  lessen  materially  in  volume,  he  received  a 
package  done  up  in  common  straw-colored 
wrapping  paper,  tied  with  a  pink  string  such 
as  druggists  use.  In  this  package  was  a  cab 
inet  photograph,  taken  in  Hartford.  It  not 
only  riveted  his  attention,  but  challenged  his 
admiration.  It  pictured  a  blonde  girl  not 
more  than  twenty,  with  features  of  classic 
symmetry  and  elegance. 

"Voluptuous  angel!"  exclaimed  Dave,  as 
he  opened  the  letter  that  was  also  inclosed. 
It  was  written  in  the  broad  English  style 
affected  by  young  ladies  who  have  attended  a 
boarding  or  finishing  school,  and  read  thus  :  — 
70 


Jycl/c  of  the   Dinner 

BROOKSIDE,  CONN.,  November  ist. 
MR.  EUREKA. 

Dear  Sir: — I  read  your  announcement  in  last  Sun 
day's  New  York ,  and  was  much  interested  in  it. 

Permit  me  to  tell  you  that  I  am  a  young  woman  who 
has  been  carefully  reared  in  a  family  which  has  suf 
fered  reverses  of  fortune.  After  my  father's  financial 
collapse  we  were  obliged  to  give  up  our  lovely  home 
in  the  city  of  Hartford  and  come  to  this  desolate 
neighborhood.  It  was  a  great  shock  to  us  all  ;  and 
though  it  happened  two  years  ago,  none  of  us  is  rec 
onciled  to  our  present  lot,  which,  I  ma}-  add,  is  about 
five  acres  in  extent,  with  a  shabby,  old-fashioned  farm 
house  in  one  corner,  wherein  we  just  exist.  I  send  you 
my  photograph,  taken  while  I  was  visiting  a  friend  in 
Hartford  about  six  months  ago.  No  one  has  ever  in 
timated  that  it  flatters  me,  and  I  do  not  think  it  does. 

If  you  can  assure  me  that  you  are  a  respectable 
gentleman  and  mean  no  harm,  I  should  be  pleased  to 
accompany  you  to  the  dinner  mentioned  in  the  news 
paper,  but  I  wish  you  to  understand,  beforehand  that 
I  will  permit  no  familiarities  in  word  or  action. 
Whether  you  see  fit  to  reply  or  not,  please  return  my 
photograph,  as  I  should  not  care  to  have  it  remain  in 
the  hands  of  an  entire  stranger. 

Yours  truly,  SYLVIA  TII/TON. 

"I  like  the  tone  of  that  letter,  Mistress 
Sylvia"  (again  surveying  the  photograph); 
"you  will  answer  very  well  indeed.  With 
you  in  evidence  I  shall  have  an  easy  victory." 

Thereupon  Dave  penned  a  courteous  mes 
sage  to  Miss  Tilton,  inclosing  a  ten-dollar  bill 


The  B oiv -Legged  Ghost 

for  her  traveling  expenses,  and  asking  her  to 
meet  him  at  a  popular  up-town  hotel  the  next 
day  at  i  P.  M.  At  the  appointed  hour  Miss 
Tilton  appeared  in  the  public  parlor  of  this 
hostelry,  and  a  few  minutes  later  Dave  pre 
sented  himself.  He  knew  her  at  once  by  her 
faithful  photograph,  though  her  face  was 
veiled.  Advancing  toward  her  with  the  easy 
grace  of  a  gentleman,  both  hands  grasping  the 
rim  of  his  hat, — held  gently  against  his  breast, 
—  he  bowed  politely,  saying,  "Miss  Tilton,  I 
believe?"  and  receiving  a  timid,  smiling 
"  Yes  "  as  a  response,  he  led  the  way  to  a  va 
cant  corner,  where  their  conversation  began. 

"To  break  the  ice  at  once,"  said  Dave, 
"  My  name  is  David  Hartley  and  not  Mr.  Eu 
reka.  You  know  the  firm  of  Hartley,  Hartley 
&  Co.,  I  dare  say;  I  belong  to  that  family." 

"  Indeed,"  quavered  Miss  Tilton  as  she  re 
moved  her  veil.  "You  must  think  it  most 
extraordinary  of  me  to  have  answered  that 
personal  in  the  paper.  It  is  something  I  never 
did  before." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Dave,  studying  the 
fresh  blooming  face  in  which  he  could  not  dis 
cover  the  semblance  of  a  flaw. 

"The  fact  is,"  she  continued,  "I  regard 
this  matter  purely  in  the  light  of  business. 


Tlie  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

Any  other  construction  put  upon  my  conduct 
I  should  resent  at  once.  But  before  proceed 
ing,  I  want  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Hartley,  if  I  suit 
you?  " 

"  Entirely,  perfectly,"  promptly  replied  the 
infatuated  Dave. 

' '  And  you  are  quite  decided  that  you  wish 
to  escort  me  to  that  dinner?  >: 

"  Most  assuredly." 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  perceive  the  kind  of 
gentleman  you  are.  I  believe  I  can  trust  you. 
But  please  do  not  think  I  am  a  flirt,  or  that  I 
wish  to  dine  with  fine  people  for  the  sake  of 
their  society.  It  will  be  a  painful  sacrifice  for 
me  to  appear  there  and  be  ogled  and  com 
mented  upon  as  a  raw  country  girl.  But  I 
need  a  hundred  dollars  for  a  certain  purpose." 

"  Oh,  believe  me,  Miss  Tilton,  I  think  every 
thing  good  of  you.  But  may  I  ask  if  you 
need  the  money  now?  You  can  just  as  well 
have  it  if  you  do." 

"  You  are  very  kind.  The  fact  is  that  my 
poor  mother  has  an  internal  trouble  from 
which  she  may  be  relieved  by  a  surgical  oper 
ation,  the  local  doctors  say.  But  delay  will 
prove  fatal.  That  is  why  I  am  so  anxious 
to  get  the  funds  as  soon  as  possible  to  pay 
for  the  operation." 

73 


The  Bo-ju-Lcgged  Ghost 

*k 

"Say  no  more,  Miss  Tilton,  I  will  assist 
you." 

Excusing  himself,  Dave  went  into  the  hotel 
office,  and  drew  his  check  for  $20x3.  The 
manager,  who  knew  him,  cashed  it,  and  he 
returned  to  the  parlor  with  the  money  neatly 
stowed  away  in  an  envelope.  Miss  Tilton' s 
eyes  were  suffused  with  tears  as  he  handed 
her  the  little  package. 

"This  will  enable  you,"  he  said,  "to  ac 
complish  your  present  urgent  desire,  and  per 
haps  you  will  find  cash  enough  left  to  provide 
yourself  with  a  new  gown.  I  shall  want  you 
to  look  your  best  at  that  dinner,  you  know." 

Miss  Tilton  nearly  broke  down  under  the 
unexpected  beneficence  of  this  sturdy  stranger. 
She  thanked  him  over  and  over  again,  until 
he  begged  her  to  desist  from  her  explosions  of 
gratitude.  Then  he  invited  her  to  luncheon, 
but  she  declined,  saying  she  must  be  starting 
for  home.  She  also  refused  his  offer  of  a 
hansom,  and,  bidding  him  good-bye,  went  to 
the  station. 

Two  days  later  she  wrote  him  a  letter,  in 
which  she  expressed  her  surprise  at  the 
amount  he  had  given  her,  and  declared  that 
she  could  only  accept  the  extra  $100  as  a 
temporary  loan.  She  would  certainly  pay  it 

74 


The  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

back  soon,  for  she  had  accepted  a  certain  posi 
tion  at  a  salary  out  of  which  she  could  save  a 
few  dollars  a  week,  and  thus  reimburse  him. 
Her  mother,  thanks  to  his  kindness,  had  been 
sent  that  morning  to  a  private  hospital  in 
Hartford.  She  concluded  her  letter  with  an 
assurance  that  she  had  begun  personal  prepa 
rations  against  the  momentous  tenth  of  Novem 
ber.  It  did  Dave's  heart  good  to  think  that 
he  had  been  able  to  render  so  valuable  a  serv 
ice  to  so  deserving  a  young  woman. 

As  the  date  of  the  dinner  came  on  apace,  he 
felt  a  real  anxiety  concerning  the  probable 
impression  Sylvia  Tiltoii  would  make  at  Via- 
dello's.  Would  she  be  diffident  and  gawky 
and  provincial  ?  That  certainly  would  weigh 
against  her.  He  speculated  on  the  subject 
night  and  day.  It  finally  occurred  to  him 
that  he  should  leave  no  stone  unturned  to 
show  her  off  to  the  best  advantage.  So  he 
went  to  a  certain  well-known  firm  of  jewelers, 
selected  several  beautiful  rings  variously  set 
with  diamonds,  rubies,  and  emeralds,  a  pair  of 
large  first-water  earrings,  a  tiara,  and  a  pearl 
necklace,  which  he  hired  for  two  weeks, 
giving  adequate  security  for  them.  These 
precious  trinkets  were  placed  in  a  secure  little 
lacquer  box  and  sent  in  a  registered  package 
75 


The  Bo"W"Legged  Ghost 

to  Sylvia  Tilton,  together  with  the  latest  book 
on  table  etiquette,  in  which  she  found  a  letter 
from  Dave,  explaining  that  the  jewels  were 
loaned  for  her  adornment  at  the  dinner,  and 
that  the  book  might  serve  to  entertain  her 
leisure  hours.  He  never  knew  how  much  the 
mere  title  of  the  little  volume  stung  Sylvia's 
pride. 

Bob  Ritchie,  a  member  of  the  bar,  with  a 
growing  practice,  was  by  far  the  most  intel 
ligent  young  man  in  this  quartet.  He  pos 
sessed  two  extremes  of  temperament  —  a  lively 
sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and  tremendous  seri 
ousness.  His  friends  were  never  certain 
which  of  these  manifestations  would  be  called 
forth  by  any  given  circumstance  or  situation, 
so  that  Bob  was  always  something  of  an 
enigma,  and  many  people  on  this  account 
stood  in  respectful  awe  of  him.  He  was  an 
accomplished  athlete,  his  particular  prowess 
having  been  gained  in  boxing,  football,  and 
those  more  rigorous  recreations  in  which 
muscle  and  mettle  are  absolutely  indispen 
sable.  In  his  cogitations  over  the  wager,  and 
the  possibilities  the  dinner  offered  for  a  prac 
tical  joke,  he  hit  upon  an  idea  which  so  thor 
oughly  amused  him  —  being  in  one  of  his 
humorous  moods  during  the  progress  of  these 


The  13 die  of  the  Dinner 

reflections  — that  he  determined  to  carry  it 
out.  To  this  end,  on  a  certain  afternoon,  he 
rang-  the  bell  of  the  Hartley  residence  on 
Madison  Avenue.  Now,  it  may  as  well  be 
explained  here  that  the  present  Mrs.  Hartley 
was  Mr.  Hartley's  second  wife,  and  Dave's 
stepmother.  She  was  just  one  year  younger 
than  Dave,  and  Dave  was  —  but  that  would 
not  be  fair  to  Mrs.  Hartley.  She  had  been, 
and  was  still,  a  remarkably  beautiful  woman  of 
the  brunette  type.  Carping  critics  might  have 
called  her  too  plump  and  florid,  but  they 
surely  could  not  have  found  fault  with  her 
prematurely  gray  hair,  which  heightened  her 
look  of  distinction.  She  was  ever}'  inch  a 
lady,  and  so  gracious  and  sympathetic  and 
sociable  that  she  was  always  in  favor  with 
every  one.  Dave  was  wont  to  declare  that  he 
adored  her  as  a  woman,  but  hated  her  as  a 
mother. 

Mrs.  Hartley  was  entertaining  a  lady,  when 
Bob  reached  the  house,  but  the  caller  soon 
went  away. 

"Now,  Bob,  don't  tell  me  thctt  you  have 
come  to  take  me  to  some  cricket  or  football 
match.  I  have  been  up  three  nights  and  am 
just  fagged  out." 

"  Please  don't  alarm  yourself.   I  have  some- 


The  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

thing  on  hand  for  November  loth.  What 
does  your  engagement  book  say  ? ' ' 

"I  am  quite  positive  something  is  jotted 
down  for  that  day.  Let  me  think.  No,  the 
Boltons  give  their  ball  on  the  nth.  Is  this 
an  important  function  ? ' ' 

"  Very." 

"Bob,  you  are  mischievous  to-day.  You 
must  have  won  a  big  lawsuit.  Come,  sit  down 
and  tell  me  about  it." 

"Well,  it's  a  state  secret,  but  it  will  be 
such  fun  that  I  wanted  you  in  it.  You  see, 
four  of  us  Amsterdam  men  have  made  a 
bet.  Each  man  is  to  bring  to  Yiadello's 
for  dinner  the  rarest  specimen  of  feminine 
beauty  he  can  get  hold  of.  Percy  Porter 
is  to  act  as  judge.  The  fellow  who  brings 
the  handsomest  woman  rakes  in  the  stakes, 
$800." 

"  Very  clever,"  commented  Mrs.  Hartley, 
seeing  through  the  whole  affair  as  clearly  as 
though  Bob  had  taken  half  an  hour  to  explain 
it.  "And  you  want  me  to  accompany  you 
and  display  myself  in  all  my  dotage. ' ' 

' '  Precisely. ' ' 

"  Bob,  my  dear  fellow,  I  should  be  terribly 
de  trop  in  that  company  and  where  would  the 
fun  be  for  me  ? ' ' 


The  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

' '  I  will  guarantee  that  you  will  laugh  your 
sides  sore.  Now,  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Bob,  you  are  a  gigantic  humbug.  Why 
don't  you  ask  some  stunning  young  girl  like 
Florence  Watts  or  Edna  Sharot  ?  And 
there's  Mariam  Lawson,  of  Baltimore,  who  is 
visiting  the  Hymans.  She  is  what  you  fel 
lows  call  a  peach.  Why,  the  town  is  crowded 
with  beautiful  young  wromen." 

"  But  none  of  them  has  your  charm,  which 
surpasses  mere  beauty." 

"Very  fine  of  you,  Bob.  It's  hard  to  re 
fuse  you  after  that.  However,  I  fear  it  will 
be  impossible  — 

' '  I  have  another  strong  reason  for  wanting 
you  to  be  there." 

' '  Well ,  counselor  ? ' ' 

"  Dave  will  be  present.  He  is  in  the 
wager." 

This  piece  of  information  threw  Mrs.  Hart 
ley  into  convulsions  of  laughter.  She  swayed 
backward  and  forward,  her  face  fairly  writh 
ing  in  merriment.  She  only  stopped  to  take 
in  a  breath  now  and  then.  All  the  rest  of  the 
time  her  risibles  were  in  full  action.  After  a 
while  she  calmed  down  long  enough  to  ask  : 
"Whom  does  Dave  intend  to  take?"  Of 
course  Bob  could  throw7  no  light  on  that  point, 
79 


The  Bo~ju-Leggcd  G/iost 

and  Mrs.  Hartley  broke  out  afresh,  but  she 
kept  herself  under  better  control  this  time. 
She  said  she  had  never  heard  anything  so 
ridiculous  in  all  her  life.  Bob  kept  up  a  low 
series  of  chuckles,  amused  at  her  amusement. 
Finally,  wiping  the  dews  of  laughter  from  her 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  she  simply  said  : 
"Bob,  you  may  count  on  me  to  accompany 
you.  But  not  a  word  to  Dave  that  I'm  to  be 
present." 

"  Trust  me  for  that.  Mrs.  Hartley,  you're  a 
trump  if  there  ever  was  one,  I'll  remember 
you  in  my  will." 

II 

THE  best  dining-room  in  Viadello's  estab 
lishment  was  brilliantly  illuminated.  The 
dinner  was  to  begin  at  seven  o'clock  ;  it  was 
now  half-past  six.  At  this  hour  Dave  Hart 
ley  met  Sylvia  Tilton  by  appointment  in  the 
lady's  reception  room  of  the  Holland  House. 
As  the}r  were  shaking  hands  he  complimented 
her  on  her  personal  appearance.  He  had 
feared  somehow  that  she  would  come  in 
dowdy  attire.  On  the  contrary,  her  dress 
and  hat  were  up  to  date  and  elegant  in  their 
simplicity. 

"  But  where  are  the  jewels  —  your  earrings, 
80 


The  J3cllc  of  the  Dinner 

the  sunburst?"  he  asked,  having  observed 
that  she  was  not  wearing  them. 

"Here,"  she  responded,  handing  him  the 
lacquer  box.  "  Mr.  Hartley,  I  have  never 
been  accustomed  to  wearing  such  costly  orna 
ments,  and  I  should  only  feel  awkward  with 
them  on.  Please  do  not  insist  on  my  wear 
ing  them.  Really,  I  cannot  do  it.  I  must  go 
on  my  own  merits  or  not  at  all." 

"  Bless  me  !  What  a  sensitive  plant  you 
are.  Ah,  well,  beauty  unadorned  is  adorned 
the  most,  they  say.  You  will  at  least  wear 
one  or  two  of  the  rings  —  the  marquise  for 
instance." 

"  Xo,"  said  Sylvia,  with  decision.  "It  is 
quite  impossible." 

Dave  tried  to  conceal  his  annoyance,  as  he 
placed  the  box  in  the  right-hand  pocket  of  his 
topcoat,  but  it  was  several  moments  before  he 
became  reconciled  to  her  not  wearing  the  jew 
els.  Then  he  ordered  a  carriage,  in  which 
they  were  conveyed  rapidly  to  Viadello's.  As 
they  ascended  the  steps  under  the  striped 
awning,  Dave  saw  in  the  vestibule  Miss  Olcott 
and  Sydney  Van  Loan,  who  had  just  arrived. 
A  moment  later  he  greeted  them  and  intro 
duced  Miss  Tilton.  The  ladies  were  escorted 
to  the  reception  room,  after  which  the  young 

6  Si 


The  Bo~jo-Lcggcd  Ghost 

men  excused  themselves  and  returned  to  the 
vestibule  arm  in  arm. 

"In  the  name  of  heaven,  where  did  you 
get  it?"  whispered  Van  Loan.  "She's  a 
daisy. ' ' 

"That's  the  reason  she's  here.  Oh,  you 
haven't  such  a  dead  cinch  as  you  thought 
you  had." 

' '  Who  is  she  ?  where  is  she  from  ? ' ' 

"Now,  don't  get  inquisitive,  old  chap." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Porter  and  Charlie  Towns- 
ley  entered. 

"Look,  Dave!"  exclaimed  Van  Loan. 
"  See  whom  Charlie  Townsley  has  brought." 

"  Hello,  fellows,"  saluted  Townsley. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Van  Loan,"  said  Mrs. 
Porter,  extending  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Hartley  —  Mrs.  Porter,"  introduced 
Van  Loan. 

"  Most  charmed,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  bowing 
with  graceful  dignity. 

"  Most  honored,  Mrs.  Porter,"  returned 
Dave,  gallantly.  "  I  have  the  pleasure  of  your 
husband's  acquaintance,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  I  have  often  heard  him  speak  of  you, 
Mr.  Hartley.  You  are  a  great  traveler,  I 
believe. ' ' 

"  Well,  I  am  not  a  chronic  stay-at-home." 
82 


The   JJelle  of  the  Dinner 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  reception  room,"  sug 
gested  Van  Loan.  Then,  sotto  voce  to  Towns- 
ley,  he  added  :  "If  we  all  get  into  a  devilish 
scrape,  it  will  be  your  fault.  What  possessed 
you  to  bring  Mrs.  Porter  ?  But  you  must  see 
the  girl  Dave  has  brought." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  That  is  to  be  learned  hereafter." 

They  proceeded  to  the  reception  room, 
where  necessary  introductions  followed.  Mrs. 
Porter  evinced  an  interest  at  once  in  Sylvia 
Tilton,  who  did  not  seem  in  the  least  embar 
rassed.  Charlie  Townsley  meanwhile  made 
himself  agreeable  to  Mabel  Olcott,  whom  he 
had  met  occasionally  in  society.  Dave  Hartley 
and  Van  Loan  stood  near  the  door,  consulting 
their  watches  and  furtively  glancing  at  the 
three  women  present,  as  though  eager  to 
determine  which  of  them  stood  the  best  chance 
of  carrying  off  the  honors. 

"  I  say,  Van,"  remarked  Dave,  in  an  under 
tone,  "it  is  not  going  to  be  a  fair  contest  with 
Mrs.  Porter  here.  Of  course,  Percy  wouldn't 
have  the  heart,  to  say  nothing  of  the  nerve, 
to  decide  against  his  wife.  I  must  say,  she's 
a  little  daisy." 

"  Makes  a  fine  contrast  to  the  other  two, 
eh?"  commented  Van  Loan. 


The  Bo~d:-Legged  Ghost 

Presently  Mrs.  Henry  Hartley  rustled  into 
the  room,  followed  by  Bob  Ritchie.  Their 
appearance  created  a  genuine  sensation.  Syl 
via  Tilton  wondered  who  the  gray-haired 
woman  might  be.  As  for  Dave,  he  stood 
aghast  for  a  moment,  at  the  sight  of  his  step 
mother,  then  reeled  against  the  wall,  and  hid 
his  face  in  his  hands  as  though  to  ward  off 
an  attacking  bogy.  In  the  meantime,  with 
admirable  presence  of  mind,  Van  Loan  pre 
sented  Mrs.  Hartley  to  Miss  Tilton,  and  those 
whom  she  had  not  met  before.  Bob  stood 
with  folded  arms  between  Miss  Olcott  and 
Charlie  Townsley,  a  mischievous  smile  hidden 
behind  his  luxurious  black  moustache.  By 
this  time,  Dave  had  pulled  himself  together 
and  when  Mrs.  Hartley  advanced  to  greet 
him,  he  met  her  half-way,  threw  his  arms 
around  her  shoulders,  and  gave  a  resounding 
smack  full  on  the  lips,  with  the  remark  :  "So 
glad  you  came,  dear  mamma.'' 

"Please  don't  flatten  out  my  sleeves,'' 
urged  Mrs.  Hartley.  "Dave,  you  are  so 
rough.'' 

Every  body  wanted  to  laugh  outright,  except 

Dave.    His  face  was  as  red  as  a  boiled  lobster. 

He   endeavored    to    speak,    but    words    failed 

him.     Mrs.    Hartley    turned    away   with    the 

84 


The  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

injunction,  spoken  so  that  all  could  hear : 
' '  Now  see  how  well  you  can  behave  this  even 
ing/'  and  began  conversing  in  a  most  ani 
mated  fashion  with  Mrs.  Porter,  wrhom  she 
knew  very  well.  Charlie  Townsley  walked 
over  to  the  sofa  where  Sylvia  sat  and  engaged 
her  in  an  effervescent  conversation  ;  somehow 
the  presence  of  Dave's  stepmother  had  given 
her  a  qualm  of  humiliation.  Mrs.  Hartley 
had  greeted  her  in  such  a  patronizing  way. 
But  it  all  seemed  so  ridiculous  to  her,  that 
she  saw  it  would  be  foolish  to  take  offense  at 
anything.  Dave  had  informally  disappeared 
in  quest  of  a  bracing  cocktail. 

"  What  a  jolly  party  it  is,"  said  Bob  to  Miss 
Olcott.  "Don't  you  think  informal  occa 
sions  like  this  are  the  most  enjoyable?" 

"I  think,  Mr.  Ritchie,  you  are  a  hopeless 
tease,"  returned  Miss  Olcott,  who  realized 
that  it  was  a  queer  assemblage.  She  feared  a 
contretemps.  And  poor  Jack  —  would  he  not 
be  furious  because  of  the  deception  she  had 
practiced  on  him  ?  He  had  invited  her  to  the 
theatre  for  this  very  evening,  and  she  had 
put  him  off  with  some  lame  excuse.  Dear, 
faithful  Jack  —  she  could  never  forgive  her 
self.  Mrs.  Porter  had  the  art  of  dissimulation 
down  fine,  to  use  a  bit  of  harmless  slang,  but 


The  Bo~j:-Leggcd  Ghost 

she  began  to  think  that  perhaps  she  had  been 
indiscreet  in  coming.  Percy  might  feel 
aggrieved  over  it. 

The  two  people  who  thoroughly  enjoyed 
themselves  were  Mrs.  Hartley  and  her  escort. 
The>-  covertly  made  signs  to  each  other  that 
they  relished  the  growing  discomfiture  of  cer 
tain  people  present.  Dave  reappeared,  par 
tially  composed  by  the  potent  stimulant  he 
had  imbibed,  but  his  manner  was  not  alto 
gether  free  from  nervousness. 

At  ten  minutes  past  seven,  the  head  waiter 
appeared,  saying  that  Signor  Yiadello,  who 
was  personally  superintending  the  dinner,  was 
anxious  to  have  them  take  their  places  at  the 
table,  as  the  viands  were  ready  to  serve  and 
would  spoil  if  kept  long  in  the  kitchen. 

"  But  Percy  hasn't  come,''  said  Van  Loan. 

"He  will  probably  be  here  soon,''  said 
Charlie  Townsley.  "  Viadello's  reputation  is 
at  stake,  you  know." 

"  Let's  not  wait  for  Percy,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Porter.  ' '  I  am  sure  he  will  show  up  before 
the  first  course  is  finished." 

"All  right,"  put  in  Van  Loan,  who  volun 
teered  to  act  as  master  of  ceremonies.  "  Let's 
besiege  the  festive  board  at  once. ' ' 

Thereupon  he  offered  his  arm  to  Mabel 
86 


77ic  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

Olcott  and  let  the  way  to  the  dining-room, 
followed  by  the  others,  paired  off  as  they  had 
come. 

Viadello  had  composed  a  menu  that  was 
choice,  if  not  elaborate.  He  knew  the  young 
men  who  had  ordered  the  dinner, —  they  had 
been  there  before, —  and  he  had  the  caterer's 
pride  in  pleasing  his  patrons.  The  table  was 
a  bower  of  flowers  and  ferns,  among  which 
were  placed  several  silver  candelabrums  with 
mauve,  yellow,  pink,  white,  and  green  shades. 
A  Hungarian  orchestra  began  to  discourse  a 
weird  rhapsody  from  the  balcony  above  as  the 
guests  seated  themselves.  Promptly  the  oys 
ters  came  on  and  were  leisurely  dispatched, 
and  the  potagc  a  la  Kcine  Julienne  was  being 
served  when  Percy  Porter  walked  in.  His 
entrance  made  eating  a  secondary  considera 
tion  for  the  time  being.  He  was  greeted  with 
wild  shouts  of  welcome,  in  which  Mrs.  Porter 
joined  with  almost  superfluous  enthusiasm. 
Percy  looked  at  his  wife  with  an  expression  so 
mixed  in  character  as  to  be  wholly  beyond  in 
terpretation  for  a  moment.  It  indicated  sur 
prise,  doubt,  partial  indignation,  amusement, 
anxiety  —  and  then  his  countenance  cleared 
and  he  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  It  was 
rather  awkward  for  him  to  be  introduced  to 
87 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Miss  Tilton  and  two  or  three  others  and  to 
adopt  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment.  Van  Loan  conducted  him  to  the 
vacant  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table  which 
had  been  reserved  for  him.  With  what  grace 
and  wit  he  could  summon  he  answered  some 
of  Charlie  Townsley's  chaff,  but  he  was  mani 
festly  disconcerted  and  perplexed  by  the  pres 
ence  of  his  wife.  To  make  matters  a  little 
more  uncomfortable  for  him,  the  irrepressible 
Mrs.  Porter  accused  him  of  woolgathering, 
and  rallied  him  on  his  lack  of  interest  in  the 
Beauty  Show,  as  she  termed  it.  \Vith  the 
best  of  intentions,  Dave  proposed  Percy's 
health  in  a  glass  of  Sauterne,  to  which  e very- 
bod}'  but  Sylvia  responded. 

"  Don't  you  like  your  wine?1'  Dave  asked 
her,  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"  I  never  drink  it,"  was  her  answer,  w~hich 
seemed  to  depress  Dave  immeasurably. 

"How  perfectly  sweet  Dave's  companion 
is,"  observed  Mrs.  Hartley  to  her  escort, 
while  the  terrapin  was  being  served.  "  Quite 
a  Madonna,  so  delightfully  unsophisticated, 
you  know.  I  wonder  where  she  is  from." 

"Ask  Dave,"  responded  Bob,  who  added  to 
himself,  "Miss  Tilton  is  far  and  away  the 
handsomest  woman  at  the  table." 


The  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  tried  to  be  en 
tirely  happy  as  the  courses  proceeded.  Cham 
pagne  always  loosened  Mrs.  Porter's  tongue, 
if  anything  were  needed  beyond  what  nature 
had  provided  for  that  purpose.  Indeed,  this 
beverage  had  a  similar  effect  upon  Mrs.  Hart 
ley,  who  scarcely  needed  it  for  stimulating 
loquacity.  Mabel  Olcott  sipped  very  guard 
edly  of  her  portion,  and  Sylvia  ignored  her 
glass  entirely.  Through  the  courses  of  filet 
dc  boeuf  a  la  Rothschild,  pommes  croqiiettes,  su 
preme  dc  volatile  merige^lx,  with  Montpensier, 
aspic  de  fois  gras,  with  sorbet,  canvasback 
clucks  and  cailles,  and  celery  mayonnaise  with 
Chateau  la  Rose,  the  company  in  the  main 
became  more  en  rapport,  but  there  were  two 
soreheads  in  the  party,  and  one  of  them  was 
Dave.  This  gentleman,  just  as  the  roast  came 
on,  excused  himself,  went  to  the  office  and 
sent  word  to  Jack  Church  as  follows  :  — 

Your  friend,  Sydney  Van  Loan,  is  in  trouble. 
Come  to  Viadello's  at  once. 

DAVE;  HARTLEY. 

It  so  happened  that  Jack  Church  lived  only 
three  blocks  away  from  Viadello's,  and  that 
he  received  the  message  within  five  minutes 
after  it  was  sent. 


The  Bo~jo-Lcgged  Ghost 

The  other  sorehead  referred  to  was  Percy 
Porter.  He  was  annoyed  and  all  but  dis 
gusted  because  his  wife  was  present,  though 
he  wras  broad  enough  to  see  Townsley's  inten 
tion  in  bringing  her.  He  also  sawr  in  Miss 
Tilton  the  inspiration  of  an  ideal  stud}-  in  oil, 
and  wrondered  if  she  would  consent  to  sit  for 
him.  But  here  was  Mrs.  Porter,  and  he  was 
judge.  Though  not  very  religious,  Percy  in 
voked  Providence  to  assist  him. 

The  glace,  compote  merveilleuse,  gdteazix, 
bonbons,  and  cafe  were  served,  and  during  one 
of  the  lulls  Van  L,oan  rose  to  his  feet  and  in 
his  quaint  manner  and  drawling  voice  said  : 
"Mr.  Judge,  Ladies,  and  Gentlemen  —  It  be 
comes  my  urgent  duty  to  announce  that  these 
exceptional  festivities  are  drawing  to  a  close  ; 
that  having  enjoyed  a  pleasant  repast,  we  are 
now  to  receive  from  the  mouth  of  an  authority 
his  verdict  —  which  must  concern  everyone 
present  —  especially  those  who  have  put  up 
$200  on  the  issue.  May  we,  Mr.  Judge,  ask 
you  to  deliver  your  decision  ? ' ' 

"It  will  be  necessary,"  responded  Percy 
Porter,  rising  from  his  chair  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  ' '  for  me  to  ask  your  indulgence  for 
a  little  time,  in  order  that  I  ma}-  reach  what 
every  honest  judge  wishes  to  render  —  an 
90 


77/6'  Belle  of  the  Dinner 

impartial  decision.     To  this  end  permit  me  to 
withdraw  for  a  few  moments." 

With  these  words,  Percy  Porter  disappeared 
into  a  rear  room,  and  he  had  scarcely  gone, 
when  Jack  Church,  in  his  business  suit,  and 
looking  the  picture  of  trouble,  flashed  into 
the  dining-room,  saying  :  "  Sidney,  where  are 
you  ? ' ' 

"Here  I  am,  old  boy,"  said  Sydney.  "You 
are  just  in  time.  Come  here. " 

But  Jack  Church  stood  quite  still.  He  had 
seen  Mabel,  and  his  eyes  swam  and  his  brain 
reeled.  Dave  Hartley  sprang  from  his  seat, 
and  went  to  the  rescue. 

"See  here,  Jack,"  said  Dave,  "this  looks 
queer  to  you,  but  it's  all  right." 

Jack  did  not  answer,  for  at  this  instant 
Mabel  left  the  table  and  advanced  toward  him. 
He  was  being  urged  to  join  the  party  by  those 
who  knew  him.  He  returned  every  one's  salu- 
tion  civilly,  but  went  with  Mabel  into  the 
reception  room,  where  it  may  be  supposed  she 
explained  the  whole  situation  to  him  satisfac 
torily.  Something  like  a  tumult  was  going  on, 
when  Percy,  paler  than  any  one  had  ever  seen' 
him  before,  returned  and,  standing  in  his 
place,  said:  "As  umpire,  I  call  this  wager 
off,  and  as  stakeholder,  I  have  the  money  to 
91 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

return  to  each  individual  who  may  rightfully 
claim  it.  Every  woman  here  is  so  beautiful 
that  it  would  be  beyond  human  intelligence 
to  decide  which  one  definitely  excels.  Please 
accept  my  box  at  the  opera  house  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening." 

The  party  went  to  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House  and  enjoyed  Calve  as  Carmen. 

Three  weeks  later  Mabel  and  Jack  were 
married,  and  all  that  were  at  the  Viadello  din 
ner  were  favored  guests.  Mrs.  Porter  sees  a 
new  wrinkle  in  Percy,  and  loves  him  more 
than  ever.  Sydney  Van  Loan,  Charley  Towns- 
ley,  and  Bob  Ritchie  are  poor  benighted 
bachelors,  who  may  sometime  see  the  error  of 
their  ways,  and  marry. 

Dave  Hartley  is  the  happy  husband  of  Syl 
via,  who  has  long  since  congratulated  her 
self  that  she  answered  his  personal  in  the 
newspaper.  For  she  is  safe  in  Dave's  loyal 
love  and  in  his  assurance  that  if  Mrs.  Porter 
had  not  been  at  the  dinner,  Percy  would  have 
decided  that  she  (Sylvia)  could  give  the  rest 
double  discount  in  the  game  of  beauty.  And 
Sylvia,  though  now  a  mother,  is  inclined  to 
look  back  upon  that  occasion  with  tolerance, 
for  she  knows,  as  well  as  everybody  else,  that 
she  was  in  truth  the  Belle  of  the  Dinner. 
92 


The  Rise  of  Regan 

REGAN  belonged  to  Bohemia.     Like 
the  poet  John  Boyle  O'Reilly,  he  — 

"...  would  rather  live  in  Bohemia 
Than  in  any  other  land." 

But  his  grotesque  presence  was  not  wel 
come  in  its  upper  circles.  He  hung  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  cheap  table  d ' hotc  set,  who  tell 
risquS  stories  and  are  not  particular  about 
their  linen. 

No  one  knew  where  he  came  from,  though 
from  his  own  admissions  he  had  lived  in  Cali 
fornia,  and  his  stories  of  Australia  and  the 
South  Seas  were  sufficiently  circumstantial 
and  embroidered  with  local  color  to  substan 
tiate  his  claims  that  he  had  been  there. 

Some  years  ago  he  appeared  in  the  chorus  of 
a  company  of  which  a  noted  Irish  comedian 
was  at  the  head.  He  could  sing  with  a  voice 
of  trumpet  power,  but  his  engagement  did  not 
last  long.  After  leaving  the  company  he  be 
gan  to  drift.  Often  on  Broadway  he  was  seen 
93 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

among  the  pedestrians.  He  wore  a  rakish- 
looking  cloth  cap,  set  on  a  shock  of  tousled, 
red-bronze  hair.  His  face  was  florid  and 
smooth-shaven.  He  wore  spectacles.  His 
clothing  was  shabby  and  picturesqely  made 
up  of  misfit,  if  not  cast-off,  garments. 

He  lived  on  the  East  Side,  in  a  small  bare 
room.  His  meals  were  an  uncertain  quantity 
—  he  trusted  to  luck  for  them.  Month  after 
month  dragged  by  and  Bart  was  still  drifting. 
He  sought  engagements  at  the  theatres,  but 
his  uncouth  appearance  was  against  him.  Xo 
manager  gave  him  the  slightest  encourage 
ment. 

There  were  days  when  none  of  his  acquaint 
ances  sawr  him.  At  such  times  he  remained  in 
his  cell-like  apartment,  pacing  the  floor,  wring 
ing  his  hands  in  morbid  despair,  and  threaten 
ing  to  kill  himself.  A  part  of  the  time  he  held 
a  pencil  in  his  hand  and  wrote  on  scraps  of  pa 
per.  Sometimes  he  wrote  late  into  the  night. 
Once  he  stayed  in  his  room  for  two  days  on  a 
stretch.  His  landlady,  wondering  whether  he 
was  sick,  sent  her  daughter  to  inquire  about 
him.  She  rapped  timidly  on  the  door.  Pres 
ently  there  was  a  click  in  the  lock  and  the  door 
opened.  She  saw  the  lodger.  He  looked  wild 
and  disheveled. 

94 


The  Rise  of  Regan 

"  Hello,  Rosa!  "  he  saluted.  "  What  is  the 
matter  ?" 

' '  I  came  to  see  if  you  were  sick, "  said  Rosa, 
who  was  a  little  afraid  of  him. 

"  Bless  your  heart,  no.  Only  a  trifle  faint 
for  want  of  something  to  eat.  Come  in,  Rosa. 
I  want  to  read  you  what  I  have  written.  If  it 
doesn't  sell,  the  river  is  left  for  me." 

Rosa  Kress  came  into  the  room  and  sat 
down  in  the  one  chair,  while  Bart,  taking  up 
his  manuscript,  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of 
the  narrow,  hard  bed. 

"  This  story  has  to  do  with  the  psychology 
of  murder.  Have  you  read  Edgar  Allen  Poe's 
'  Tales  '  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Rosa  ingenuously,  "but  I  like 
L,aura  Jean  Ljbbey.  " 

Bart  laughed. 

"  Well,  now  listen  and  see  what  you  think 
of  it." 

He  began  to  read.  It  was  the  weirdest  con 
coction  ever  put  down  on  paper.  But  it  was 
strong,  bold,  epigrammatic.  Rosa  listened 
with  awe.  His  sonorous  voice  thrilled  her. 
The  story  affected  her  to  tears.  She  was  an 
emotional  German  girl. 

"  It  is  very  fine,"  said  Rosa,   after  he  had 
finished.     "I  did  not  know   you  could  write 
95 


The  Bo~uo-Lcgged  Ghost 

such   grand  things.     Where  is  it  to  be   pub 
lished  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  there's  the  rub.  You  see  Rosa,  I 
never  have  had  anything  printed.  But  when 
I  hear  alleged  writers  telling  about  their  stuff, 
and  see  what  they  get  published,  it  gives  me  a 
pain.  So  I  thought  I'd  try  what  I  could  do. 
I  said  to  myself,  '  I  have  traveled ;  I  have 
seen  the  world  ;  I  have  suffered ;  why  can't  I 
write  ?  '  Do  you  really  think  it  good  ? ' ' 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  Rosa,  "  It  is  so  strange 
and  horrible.  Was  there  ever  such  a  wicked 
woman  as  the  Lilith  in  your  story  ? ' ' 

"She  is  the  Lilith  of  old,  but  there  have 
been  and  are  many  Liliths. ' ' 

"  But  you  must  be  almost  starved.  I  will 
go  and  make  you  some  soup,"  and  Rosa 
started  out  of  the  room. 

"  Never  mind,  Rosa  ;  I  am  going  out  and 
will  find  something  to  eat." 

But  Rosa  was  already  half-way  down  stairs. 
Bart  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
The  skies  had  been  gray  and  opaque  with 
March  clouds,  but  were  now  brightening  as 
the  sun  blazed  his  way  through  them.  And 
similarly  into  Bart's  tired  and  embittered  heart 
laughing  sunshine  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
come.  It  was  the  smile  of  little  Rosa  Kress 
96 


The  Rise  of  Regan 

that  already  had  steeled  his  mind  to  all  the 
rigors  and  opposition  of  the  cold,  sardonic 
world.  This  human  flower  of  the  East  Side, 
innocent  and  sweet  in  the  midst  of  the  slums, 
henceforth  should  be  the  inspiration  of  his 
writings.  Had  she  not  told  him  with  her  own 
scarlet  lips  that  she  believed  in  him?  Had 
she  not  made  his  life  endurable  by  a  kind  act 
—  a  few  simple  words? 

Presently  Rosa  returned,  bearing  a  tray  on 
which  were  a  bowl  of  steaming  soup,  a  cup  of 
coffee,  and  half  a  loaf  of  swartz  bread  and 
butter.  Bart  tackled  the  meal  without  cere 
mony,  for  he  was  half  famished  —  thanking 
Rosa  profusely  the  while  and  calling  her  an 
angel. 

An  hour  later  he  walked  down  to  Park  Row 
with  his  manuscript,  and  dropped  into  a  cafe 
where  he  was  sure  of  meeting  some  one  he 
knew.  Yes,  there  was  Forbes  Andrews,  the 
great  "free  lance,"  standing  treat  for  half  a 
dozen  journalistic  parasites.  Bart  was  invited 
to  drink.  He  joined  the  others,  managing  to 
whisper  to  Andrews  that  he  wished  to  show 
him  something.  Soon  Andrews  and  Bart  re 
paired  to  an  alcove  where  they  could  be  confi 
dential.  Bart  produced  his  roll  of  manu 
script. 

7  97 


The  Bo^v-Lcggcd  Ghost 

"Now,  Andrews,  you  are  a  successful 
writer,  and  I  want  your  honest  opinion  of 
this,  and  a  tip  as  to  where  I  can  sell  it.  You 
know  I  need  money  more  than  flattery  ;  and 
if  you  don't  think  it  will  pass  muster  any 
where,  I'll  destroy  it,  and  that  will  end  it." 

Andrews  made  a  pretense  of  reading  it.  He 
turned  over  the  pages  hurriedly,  without  try 
ing  to  grasp  the  nature  of  the  story,  and 
finally  asked  :  ' '  How  many  words  are  there  ? ' ' 

"  I  should  say  about  three  thousand." 

"It  is  a  pretty  tough-looking  document, 
Bart,  but  take  it  around  to  the  Investigator 
office;  inquire  for  Jim  Perry,  the  managing 
editor.  I  think  he'll  accept  it  on  account  of 
your  curious  use  of  English." 

Bart  acted  on  Andrew's  suggestion.  He 
was  told  to  come  to  the  office  in  a  week  for 
a  decision  about  it.  To  the  unconventional 
Bart,  it  was  the  longest  week  he  ever  lived. 
During  that  interval  he  visited  many  haunts 
where  men  sit  and  guzzle  beer  all  day  and 
more  than  half  the  night.  If  not  in  one  place, 
then  in  another,  he  would  meet  some  one  who 
asked  him  what  he  would  have  ;  and  by  accept 
ing  a  treat  he  was  privileged  to  make  frequent 
trips  to  the  free  lunch  counter  and  help  him 
self  to  the  coarse  viands  set  there  for  custo- 
98 


The  Rise  of  Regan 

mers.  He  had  existed  in  this  manner  for 
many  months,  and  he  is  not  the  only  man  who 
has  resorted  to  this  method  of  foraging. 

He  was  considerably  in  arrears  to  his  land 
lady,  but  she  was  a  patient  soul  and  he  was 
so  enthusiastically  certain  he  would  make  a 
"  strike  "  soon,  that  she  did  not  press  him  for 
the  money  he  owed  her.  He  went  to  the 
Investigator  office — only  to  be  told  that  they 
could  not  use  his  story,  it  was  too  hyperboli 
cal,  etc.  Not  altogether  discouraged,  how 
ever,  he  went  to  another  newspaper  writh  it. 
A  sub-editor  told  him  to  drop  in  about  ten 
days  later.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  was 
informed  that  the  story  would  not  answer ; 
they  advised  him  to  try  some  of  the  weeklies. 

He  visited  the  Every  Saturday  sanctum. 
Here  he  met  more  civil  treatment ;  the  editor 
condescended  to  inquire  concerning  his  past 
career.  Bart  frankly  confided  the  particulars 
of  his  knock-about  existence.  Within  three 
days  his  story  was  accepted,  and  he  received 
a  check  for  $15  for  it.  Delirious  with  joy, 
he  ran  all  the  way  home  and  gave  the  check 
to  his  landlady,  asking  her  to  let  him  have 
a  dollar  out  of  it,  to  enable  him  to  get  some 
clean  "  laundry  "  at  the  Chinaman's.  Though 
he  still  owed  her  more  than  $50  (at  the  rate 
99 


The  Bo-jo-Lcggcd  Ghost 

of  $2  per  week  rent),  Mrs.  Kress  humored  the 
request,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  Rosa  brought 
up  to  him  some  cheese,  cake,  and  a  cup  of  coffee. 
She  congratulated  him  on  having  disposed  of 
his  story,  and  Bart  told  her  he  was  going  to 
make  literature  his  profession.  He  met  her 
often  in  the  ground-floor  hall,  and  in  their 
informal  chats  he  outlined  to  her  some  of  his 
concepts,  of  which  his  mind  seemed  full  to 
overflowing.  And  sometimes  of  an  evening, 
he  dawdled  with  her  in  the  parlor,  and  heard 
her  sing  to  the  accompaniment  of  an  organ, 
whose  defective  bellows  made  some  queer 
modulations,  which  amused  them  both.  She 
was  ambitious  to  sing  in  public,  and  Bart  told 
her  it  would  be  worth  while  for  her  to  take 
lessons  in  vocal  culture.  She  believed  him, 
and  her  mother  at  last  consented  to  pay  a 
teacher  for  one  term. 

In  the  meantime,  Bart  wrote  more  short 
stories  and  tried  to  sell  them.  He  was  not  a 
good  peddler  of  his  wares,  which  he  recklessly 
depreciated  in  a  way  that  would  have  been 
sheer  blackguardism  had  the  statements  ema 
nated  from  some  one  else.  Every  Saturday 
bought  two  other  stories  of  his  and  published 
them  after  they  had  been  edited.  All  of  his 
work  required  revision,  for  he  used  words  un- 


The  Rise  of  Regan 

authorized  by  the  lexicographers  and  his  punc 
tuation  and  spelling  were  often  ambiguous. 
Despite  these  defects,  the  editor  of  Every  Sat 
urday  pronounced  Bart  a  genius  —  a  diamond 
in  the  rough.  When  he  received  a  check  he 
hastened  to  Mrs.  Kress  with  it,  as  though  he 
was  afraid  it  would  somehow  slip  away  from 
him.  How  to  convert  it  into  cash  was  a  proc 
ess  he  did  not  understand.  By  degrees  he  paid 
Mrs.  Kress  all  but  about  ten  dollars  back  rent. 
By  this  time  he  was  head  over  heels  in  love 
with  Rosa,  and  Rosa  was  at  least  intensely 
interested  in  him.  His  material  condi 
tion  remained  visibly  unaltered.  He  still 
wore  seedy  raiment  and  his  diet  was  danger 
ously  irregular.  He  went  nearly  every  day 
to  the  Astor  Library,  where  he  read  a  number 
of  books,  particularly  those  of  Darwin  and  Her 
bert  Spencer.  He  talked  vaguely  about  pro 
toplasm  and  the  proletariat  when  some  friend 
dined  him  at  "The  Black  Cat"  or  the  Hun 
garian  Cafe.  Now  that  some  of  his  work 
had  gotten  into  print,  he  enjoyed  a  certain 
prestige  he  had  not  commanded  in  his  obscure 
days.  He  talked  with  more  assurance  and 
authority  on  mysterious  problems  of  life  and 
death,  and  even  ventured  to  lay  down  canons 
for  writers. 


The  Bo~jc-Lcggcd  Ghost 

At  length  it  occurred  to  him  to  cross  the 
ocean  in  the  steerage  and  write  an  account  of 
his  experiences.  He  proposed  the  idea  to  sev 
eral  editors,  one  of  whom,  the  manager  of  a 
big  patent  plate  concern,  thought  so  well  of  it 
that  he  advanced  Bart  sufficient  money  to  pur 
chase  a  steerage  ticket  to  Liverpool,  promising 
to  pay  him  one  cent  a  word  for  such  of  his 
matter  as  should  be  used.  It  was  a  great  hard 
ship  to  leave  Rosa,  but  she  should  hear  from 
him  often,  and  when  he  came  back,  suppose  he 
should  have  enough  capital  —  sublime  dream! 
—  to  offer  his  hand  to  her  in  marriage!  Rosa 
gave  him  a  fine  cambric  handkerchief  with  his 
initials  worked  in  the  corner  with  her  own 
hands,  and  let  him  kiss  her  when  he  said  good 
bye. 

Bart  sailed  away  on  the  Majestic.  During 
the  voyage  he  saw  a  man,  who  suddenly  had 
become  insane,  jump  over  the  rail  into  the  sea 
and  disappear  forever  beneath  the  fluted  waves. 
He  had  other  grewsome  experiences,  which 
were  duly  recorded  and  given  to  the  American 
public  in  print. 

ii 

Two  years  later  Forbes  Andrews  was  stand 
ing  in  the  lobby  of  a  prominent  Xew  York 


The  Rise  of  Regan 

hotel  one  afternoon,  when  a  gentleman  in  a 
dress  suit  and  crush  hat  approached  him  with 
extended  hand  and  the  salutation:  "How 
a-r-r-e  you,  old  fellow?" 

The  burrs  in  his  speech  and  his  rich  Irish 
brogue  still  clung  to  Bart.  Andrews  knew 
him  in  a  glance,  notwithstanding  his  sartorial 
transformation. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  -  -  !  Bart  Regan  !  Where 
in  the  —  —  did  you  spring  from  ? ' ' 

"London,"  was  the  laconic  answer. 
"  Landed  yesterday.  Just  here  for  a  short 
stay --to  pay  up  old  scores,  'blow'  the 
fellows  who  ever  did  me  a  good  turn,  — 
yourself  among  them,  —  and  to  get  mar 
ried.'  ' 

"Ha!  ha!  You  have  }Tour  hands  full,  I 
should  say.  Bart,  you're  looking  out  o' 
sight.  Had  a  windfall  from  some  rich  uncle, 
eh?" 

"Better  than  that.  I've  won  it  with  my 
pen,  which  you  always  said  was  a  feeble, 
clumsy  implement.  Come  to  Del's  and  dine 
with  me  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  owe 
you  a  good  dinner  for  all  the  hospitality  I 
have  had  from  you." 

"Bah!  let  your  maudlin  gratitude  go  to 
grass.  But  I'll  go  you  on  the  dinner  proposi- 
103 


The  Bo^c-Lcgged  Ghost 

tion.  I  don't  happen  to  have  an  engagement 
to-night." 

They  rode  up  to  Delmonico's  in  an  auto 
mobile.  Bart  made  selections  from  the  bill  of 
fare  like  a  veteran  epicure.  During  the  repast 
he  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  large  wad  of 
greenbacks,  with  the  remark  :  ' '  Want  to  bor 
row  some  money  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  mind,"  replied  Andrews,  making 
a  grab,  but  missing  the  roll.  "  Been  cracking 
the  bank  of  England  ? ' ' 

"I'll  tell  you  all  there  is  to  it,:'  said  Bart, 
putting  his  money  back  in  his  coat  pocket. 
"When  I  struck  London,  my  cash  assets 
amounted  to  about  five  dollars.  They  didn't 
go  far,  though  I  lived  as  cheaply  as  a  hobo. 
But  I  had  some  stories  on  hand  that  I  had  not 
been  able  to  do  anything  with  on  this  side.  I 
began  offering  them  to  London  editors.  After 
a  while  I  met  Billy  Ruffum,  editor  of  the 
Cackler,  who  is  an  American,  you  know.  He 
thought  I  was  interesting  and  bought  four 
of  my  stories,  paying  liberally  for  them  on  ac 
ceptance.  He  dined  me  at  the  Quill  Club  in 
Fleet  Street,  and  introduced  me  to  many  of 
the  literary  moguls  over  there.  They  had 
some  fun  with  me  at  first.  But  I  bought  some 
checked  clothes  and  began  to  put  on  British 
104 


The  Rise  of  Regan 

swagger,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  w7as 
taken  up  in  a  social  way  and  had  invitations 
galore.  There  was  a  demand  for  my  work 
and  I  pegged  away  at  it  as  steady  as  clock 
work  —  making  hay  while  the  sun  shone.  Soon 
I  had  an  offer  for  a  collection  of  short  stories 
—  to  be  published  in  book  form  this  week. 
The  publisher  advanced  me  £200  on  it,  and 
the  money  you  just  saw  in  my  possession 
amounts  to  about  $750  —  wrhat  is  left  of  the 
original  sum.  I  am  going  to  see  all  the  boys, 
give  them  good  dinners,  pay  back  small  sums 
they've  loaned  me,  and  then  back  to  dear  old 
London  for  new  conquests.  And,  by  the  way, 
the  most  delightful  thing  of  all  is  this:  I  shall 
take  back  with  me  a  wife  —  the  daughter  of 
my  old  landlady.  The  young  woman's  name 
is  Rosa  Kress,  the  sweetest  little  creature  in 
the  world.  We  are  to  be  married  in  the  — 
Church,  on  Second  Avenue,  next  Friday  morn 
ing.  I  herewith  invite  you  to  be  present  and 
also  to  attend  the  wedding  breakfast  afterward 
at  the  Hungarian  Cafe.  If  you  see  any  of  the 
boys  that  were  my  friends,  tell  them  about  it 
and  say  they  are  invited.  By  the  way,  wrhat 
is  the  matter  with  your  being  my  best  man?  " 
' '  Nothing  at  all.  But  how  did  you  get 
there,  Bart?" 

105 


The  Bo~jc-Lcggcd  Ghost 

"Oh,  I  can't  explain  it.  Fate  just  got  tired 
of  tormenting  me  and  while  she  was  looking 
for  another  victim  I  slipped  away  from  her  and 
crawled  up  the  mountain  side.  The  glorious 
Peak  of  Success  is  away  up  there  in  the 
azure,  but  I'm  going  to  scale  it,  and  don't 
you  make  any  mistake  about  it. ' ' 


1 06 


Mrs.  Tubbs's  Manoeuvres 

WONDER  what  that  man  is  up  to?" 
Though  Mrs.  Tubbs  addressed  the  in- 
quiry  to  herself,  she  hastily  glanced  at 
a  dozen  or  more  articles  in  the  room,  as  if  to 
wheedle  from  them  an  answer.  The  fact  was, 
Mrs.  Tubbs  had  become  impatient.  She  could 
hear  the  last  faint  summons  of  the  church  bell 
in  the  village,  a  good  two  miles  away,  and  to 
be  late  at  service  she  always  had  considered  a 
useless,  not  to  say  an  irreverent,  proceeding. 
Coming  after  the  contribution  box  of  regula 
tion  black  walnut,  with  its  long  handle,  like 
an  old-fashioned  corn-popper,  had  been 
passed,  seemed  to  her  like  an  intentional 
avoidance  of  charitable  duty. 

Mrs.  Tubbs  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
working  on  her  black  kids,  with  that  unctuous 
precision  which  most  women  exercise  in  such 
a  performance.  She  was  on  the  point  of  call 
ing  her  husband  when  he  made  his  appearance 
in  the  doorway.  Mrs.  Tubbs  surveyed  him, 
in  his  tall  hat  and  Sunday  suit,  with  evident 
107 


The  Boiv-Lcgged  Ghost 

approval,  for  Chauncey  was  not  a  real  bad- 
looking  man  when  he  was  ' '  dressed  up. ' ' 
His  long,  angular,  smooth-shaven  face  and  his 
drooping  violet  eyes  gave  him  a  certain  order 
of  distinction.  But  her  silent  admiration 
suffered  a  reaction  when  she  gazed  at  his 
boots. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Chauncey  Tubbs, 
what  on  earth's  the  matter  with  your  boots? 
They  look  like  iron.  Well,  I  never  !  " 

Mr.  Tubbs  bowed  his  head  and  inspected 
his  feet.  His  wife  had  hit  the  bullseye  of 
verisimilitude  when  she  said  his  boots  looked 
like  iron. 

"They  do  look  a  little  mite  queer,"  he 
acknowledged,  a  moment  later. 

"Well,  I  should  say  as  much,"'  returned 
Mrs.  Tubbs,  with  exuberant  sarcasm. 
"What  have  you  been  puttin'  on  them? 
Surely  it's  not  blackin'.  I  declare  it's  stove 
polish.  Oh,  if  that  ain't  exasperatin',  I  don't 
know  what  is.  It's  just  like  a  stupid  man 
for  all  the  world.  You've  just  spoilt  my 
Sunday,  for  I  wouldn't  be  seen  dead  with 
you  in  them  boots  up  to  the  village/' 

"  Come,  Hannah,  don't  git  all  worked  up 
over  nothin'.  Folks  ain't  goin'  to  think  any 
the  less  of  me  for  a  little  mistake  like  that. 
1 08 


J/r.v.   7}(bbsjs  jManocu'vrcs 

Come,  we'll  jump  in  the  wagon  and  be  off  in 
a  jiffy." 

"Not  a  step  will  I  go,"  said  Mrs.  Tubbs, 
snappishly,  "unless  you  change  them  boots 
and  put  on  something  respectable." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  and  see  if  I  can  borrow  a  pair 
of  Jake's." 

And  Chauncey  disappeared  in  search  of  the 
hired  man. 

Mrs.  Tubbs  seated  herself  on  a  haircloth 
chair  and  began  to  meditate  upon  her  sad  lot. 
It  did  seem  sometimes  as  though  Chauncey 
Tubbs  had  lost  his  senses.  He  was  always 
getting  into  hot  water.  Where  would  the 
farm  go  to  if  it  wasn't  for  her  level  head 
and  unerring  judgment?  All  to  smash,  of 
course. 

Mr.  Tubbs  did  not  succeed  in  his  mission  to 
the  hired  man.  Jake  was  going  over  to  Sun 
set  Hollow  to  see  his  girl  and  he  needed  his  good 
boots  very  much,  but  he  was  awful  sorr}-,  be 
cause  he  would  like  to  accommodate  Mr.  Tubbs. 
The  latter  entertained  no  serious  desire  to  re 
turn  defeated  to  the  irritable  presence  of  his 
wife,  and  it  occurred  to  him  to  interview  Ma 
tilda  Ryer  on  his  way  back  to  the  parlor. 
Accordingly,  he  crept  up  the  back  stairs  and 
knocked  at  her  bedroom  door.  Matilda  was  a 
109 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

large  buxom  girl,  and  Chauncey  conjectured 
that  he  could  wear  her  shoes  —  on  a  pinch 
anyway.  He  briefly  explained  his  dilemma, 
taking  out  his  watch  to  emphasize  the  fact 
that  he  had  no  time  to  lose,  and  ended  by  ask 
ing  her  for  the  loan  of  her  shoes.  She  blushed 
as  red  as  a  ripe  peach,  laid  down  the  sensa 
tional  story  paper  she  had  been  excitedly  read 
ing,  and  produced  her  best  kid  shoes.  With 
the  aid  of  a  formidable  hairpin  Mr.  Tubbs 
soon  had  them  buttoned,  and,  with  a  smile 
three-fourths  gratitude  and  one-fourth  satis 
faction,  he  repaired  to  the  parlor. 

"How  do  you  like  these?  Jake  needs  his 
best  boots  to-day,  so  I  borrowed  Matilda's 
shoes.  Ain't  they  all  right,  Hannah  ?  " 

"Gracious  goodness,  Chauncey  Tubbs,  if 
you  ain't  the  most  aggravatin'  man  I  ever  see. 
Are  you  losin'  the  little  mind  you  ever  had  ? 
The  idea  of  puttin'  on  them  things.  Sup- 
posin'  anybodj^  should  find  out  that  you  wore 
our  hired  girl's  shoes  to  church,  you  never 
would  hear  the  last  on't  to  your  dyin'  day, 
never!  If  you  ain't  the  most  ridiculous  man 
I  ever  see.  You  better  put  the  horses  back 
in  the  barn,  for  you've  fussed  around  till  its 
too  late  for  meetin'  now." 

"Come,   Hannah,"   entreated    Mr.    Tubbs, 


Mrs.   Tubbs"1  s  Manoeuvres 

humbly,  "  don't  take  on  that  way.  Tnis  foot 
gearin's  plenty  good  enough." 

Mrs.  Tubbs  was  implacable.  She  had  her 
owyn  opinions  and  she  thought  —  in  result,  at 
least  —  for  her  husband  most  of  the  time. 

Somewhat  crestfallen,  Chauncey  went  to  put 
the  horses  in  the  barn,  while  Mrs.  Tubbs, 
thoroughly  exasperated,  went  to  the  door  of 
the  back-stairs  and  shouted,  "  Matilda." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  You  needn't  cook  the  chickens  that  Jake 
killed  this  morning  for  dinner.  When  it 
comes  time  just  put  on  the  table  some  stale 
bread  and  butter,  and  what's  left  of  the  apple 
sauce  wre  had  last  night,  and  some  tea." 

Closing  the  door  vigorously,  without  wait 
ing  to  hear  the  servant's  meek  answer,  "All 
right,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Tubbs  proceeded  to  her 
bedroom  to  lay  aside  her  new  bonnet  which 
she  had  purchased  on  the  preceding  Thursday 
at  the  village  milliner's.  She  had  been  ex 
pecting  to  make  something  of  an  impression 
among  the  ' '  sistren  ' '  when  she  walked  into 
church  to-day.  But  alas  !  all  on  account  of 
that  fussy  man  of  hers  she  was  deprived  of 
the  blessed  privilege  of  attending  divine  serv 
ice —  she  who  never  intended  to  miss  a  Sun 
day  from  church  unless  there  was  sickness  in 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

the  family.  She  also  removed  her  vari-colored 
cashmere  shawl  which  she  had  worn  on  dress 
occasions  for  the  last  fifteen  years.  It  smelt 
strongly  of  musk  • —  Mrs.  Tubbs  favorite 
"odor1'  —and  she  prized  it  very  highly,  as 
it  was  a  present  from  her  first  husband.  She 
did  not  however  change  her  Sunday  gown  —  a 
rather  ancient  fabrication  of  black  silk.  In 
the  capacious  pocket  of  that  dress  Mrs.  Tubbs 
always  kept  a  plentiful  assortment  of  allspice, 
which  it  was  her  wont  to  eat  a  goodly  portion 
of  during  the  progress  of  the  sermon.  As 
Mrs.  Tubbs's  teeth  were  artificial  and  did  not 
fit  her  mouth  as  well  as  they  might  have  done, 
she  was  apt  to  make  no  dainty  noise  while 
masticating  cloves,  cassiabuds,  cinnamon,  etc., 
to  the  general  annoyance  or  intense  amuse 
ment  of  those  within  earshot. 

Coming  down  stairs  Mrs.  Tubbs,  still  in 
something  of  a  "  pet  "  over  her  husband's  re 
cent  conduct,  sought  consolation  in  the  words 
of  Holy  Writ.  She  was  reading  in  her  favor 
ite  Book  of  Proverbs  the  words,  ' '  Love  not 
sleep,  lest  thou  come  to  poverty  ;  open  thine 
eyes,  and  thou  shalt  be  satisfied  with  bread," 
when  Chauncey  rather  gingerly  entered  the 
parlor.  He  still  wore  the  buttoned  shoes  he 
had  borrowed  from  Matilda,  and  as  his  trou- 


Mrs.  Tubbs' 's  Manoeuvres 

sers  were  what  is  known  as  the  ' '  high-water  ' ' 
kind,  his  pedal  appearance  was  little  short  of 
ludicrous. 

"  Chauncey,"  said  she,  looking  over  her 
glasses  with  hypercritical  severity,  ' '  did  you 
hear  what  I  was  just  readin'  in  the  blessed 
Word?" 

"Can't  say  I  did  exactly,"  replied  Chaun 
cey,  as  he  proceeded  to  poke  the  logs  in  the 
grate,  in  default  of  anything  better  to  occupy 
his  attention. 

"There,  let  the  fire  alone  and  listen  to 
what  I'm  a-sayin.'  That  passage  in  Scrip 
ture  I  was  just  readin'  applies  to  you.  I  do 
believe  you  try  to  oversleep  Sunday  morn 
ings  just  on  purpose  to  git  rid  of  goin'  to 
church." 

And  thus  Mrs.  Tubbs  continued  to  prate 
until  she  was  quite  worn  out.  After  these 
venomous  discourses,  it  was  her  custom  to  re 
lapse  into  an  iron  silence,  so  to  speak,  which 
she  would  maintain  for  hours  on  a  stretch, 
paying  no  heed  to  the  conciliatory  efforts  and 
occasional  questions  of  her  husband.  For  the 
next  two  hours  she  read  her  Bible  with  deep 
absorption,  while  Mr.  Tubbs  composed  him 
self  on  the  sofa  and  fell  asleep. 

At  length  Matilda  rang  the  bell  for  dinner. 


The  13 o~*.v- Legged  Ghost 

Stolidly  Mrs.  Tubbs  walked  into  the  dining- 
room,  followed  by  her  passive  liege  lord. 

"Is  this  all  you've  got  to  eat?"  inquired 
Mr.  Tubbs,  with  a  hungry  look. 

"It's  more  than  you  deserve  this  day," 
Mrs.  Tubbs  deigned  to  reply. 

Mr.  Tubbs  indulged  in  a  few  indignant 
thoughts  which  he  was  wise  enough  not  to 
utter  aloud.  He  ate  the  stale  bread  and  butter 
and  apple  sauce  and  drank  his  tea  in  silence, 
and  Mrs.  Tubbs  did  likewise.  The  latter  was 
seated  opposite  a  window  that  commanded 
a  view  of  the  turnpike.  Suddenly  her  face 
crimsoned  as  she  exclaimed  :  ' '  There  come 
the  Twomblys,  and  as  sure  as  I  live  they  are 
going  to  stop  here  !  Of  course,  they'll  expect 
to  stay  to  dinner.  Oh,  what  shall  we  do,  what 
shall  we  do?" 

Sure  enough  John  Twombly  drove  up  to  the 
horse  block  in  front  of  the  Tubbs' s  mansion. 
Presently  they  rang  the  doorbell.  Mrs.  Tubbs, 
in  a  flutter  of  confusion,  opened  the  door. 

"Why,  how  d'do,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
very  good  simulation  of  cordiality;  "I'm  so 
glad  you  stopped.  Come  right  in.  How 
d'do,  Mr.  Twombly.  Xow  you  can  stay  to 
dinner  with  us.  I  was  just  goin'  to  tell  Ma 
tilda  to  put  on  the  chickens  to  boil." 
114 


J/r.s\   Tubbs" s   Manoeuvres 

' '  We  was  surprised  not  to  see  you  to  meetin' 
to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Twombly  as  she  removed 
her  wraps  in  the  deliberate  manner  of  large, 
phlegmatic  women.  "We  missed  you  very 
much.  We  did  have  such  a  good  sermon 
to-day.  I  told  Mrs.  Peachblow  as  we  was 
comin'  out  of  church,  that  I  thought  our  min 
ister  preached  better  and  better,  and  she  said 
she  thought  so,  too.  Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

'Yes,"  put  in  Mr.  Twombly,  "  you  ought 
to  heard  that  sermon,  Mrs.  Tubbs.  You 
missed  a  grand  treat.  Where  is  Chauncey  ?  " 

But  before  Mrs.  Tubbs  could  reply, 
Chauncey  came  into  the  parlor.  He  was  chew 
ing  some  of  the  stale  bread,  and  in  his  vest  was 
tucked  a  napkin  which  plainly  evidenced  the 
fact  that  he  had  come  from  the  dinner-table. 
His  appearance  mortified  Mrs.  Tubbs  beyond 
measure.  Had  she  not  just  intimated  that 
dinner  was  not  yet  ready?  She  had  been 
about  to  say  that  she  and  Mr.  Tubbs,  having 
gone  to  bed  tired  the  night  before,  had  con 
cluded  to  sleep  late  this  morning  and  try  and 
get  ' '  rested  out. ' ' 

"  Hallo,  John,"  saluted  Chauncey,  address 
ing  Mr.  Twombly,  with  whom  he  shook 
hands.  "How  d'do,  Mrs.  Twombly?  Been 
to  meetin'  I  s'pose.  ' 

"5 


The  Bo-v-Leggcd  Ghost 

"Yes,"  said  John,  "but  you  are  having 
-dinner  now  ain't  you?"  he  added,  glancing  at 
Mr.  Tubbs's  napkin. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Tubbs,  with  a  nervous  titter.  "We  slept  so 
late  this  mornin'  we  thought  we'd  eat  a  little 
something  now,  and  then  have  dinner  about 
three.  I  thought  maybe  you'd  stop  and  see 
us  on  your  way  home,  and  now  I'm  glad  we 
put  off  our  regular  dinner  so  you  can  have  it 
with  us." 

"That's  about  the  way  it  was,"  remarked 
Mr.  Tubbs.  "John,  I'll  go  and  put  your 
horses  in  the  barn  and  give  'em  some  feed. 
Jake's  gone  away  for  the  day.  He's  gettin' 
pretty  soft  on  one  of  Bill  Ulum's  daughters." 

"  I  don't  know  as  we'd  better  stay  to  din 
ner,"  said  Mrs.  Twombly.  "We  left  the 
children  at  home  to-day  in  charge  of  Miss 
Wilby,  the  school-teacher,  who  boards  with 
us.  I've  cooked  up  enough  to  last  'em,  but 
maybe,  John,  we'd  better  drive  on  home.  I'm 
afraid  it's  going  to  put  you  out." 

"Now,  don't  say  that,"  urged  Mrs.  Tubbs, 
"  you  know  I'd  be  only  too  glad  to  have  you 
stay  to  dinner.  Now  just  make  yourself  right 
to  home.  I'll  go  out  in  the  kitchen  and  see 
how  Matilda  is  gettin'  on.  Chauncey,  show 
116 


J/;\v.   Tubbs^  s  ^lanceuvres 

Mrs.  Twombly  our  new  album.  Brother 
George,  who  lives  out  in  Colorado,  sent  us  a 
photograph  of  himself  last  week.  You  re 
member  him  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes." 

' '  The  picture  looks  real  natural. ' ' 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  we  might  as  well  stay,  then, 
Mary , ' :  observed  John  Twombly.  ' '  Chauncey, 
I'll  go  out  with  you  to  the  barn  and  fix  the 
horses. ' ' 

While  the  two  men  were  unhitching  the 
horses  in  the  barn,  John  said:  "  Been  getting 
a  new  pair  of  shoes,  I  see,  Chauncey." 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Tubbs,  hesitatingly. 

' '  The}'  are  a  new  kind  for  you,  aint  they  ?  ' ' 
inquired  John,  eyeing  them  with  close  scru 
tiny.  ' '  They  look  more  like  women's  shoes. ' ' 

Chauncey  laughed. 

"  What  you  laughin'  at?  "  asked  John. 

"Oh,  nothin'." 

Chauncey  was  obviously  ill  at  ease.  But  he 
did  not  dare  to  confess  to  John  that  he  was 
wearing  Matilda's  shoes.  If  it  ever  reached 
the  ears  of  Mrs.  Twombly  the  whole  township 
would  be  certain  to  know  all  about  it. 

When  the  men  returned  to  the  house,  busy 
preparations  were  going  on  for  dinner.  Mrs. 
Twombly  insisted  on  donning  an  apron  and 
117 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

helping  Mrs.  Tubbs  and  Matilda.  Mrs.  Tubbs 
protested,  but  it  was  no  use.  Mrs.  Twombly 
was  a  great  gossip  and  she  had  a  number  of 
choice  bits  of  information  and  ' '  hear-say  ' '  to 
impart  to  her  eager  listener,  Mrs.  Tubbs. 

Chauncey  managed  to  steal  upstairs  and  get 
on  his  slippers,  returning  the  tell-tale  shoes 
to  their  owner's  room.  He  felt  better  after 
that,  and  was  able  to  hold  his  own  in  conver 
sation  with  John  Twombly  on  such  topics  as 
crops,  the  present  price  of  butter,  the  next 
town  supervisor,  the  death  of  old  farmer  Tardy 
in  his  98th  year,  etc. 

Finally  a  dinner  to  tempt  an  epicure  was  an 
nounced,  and  before  the  Sabbath  sun  had  set, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tubbs  had  regained  their  wonted 
composure,  and  the  Twomblys  went  home  well 
pleased  with  the  exceptional  hospitality  they 
had  received. 


118 


A  Parlor-Car  Romance 

train  moved  out  of  the  Albany  station 
with  a  mellow  rumble  and  was  soon 
rushing  westward  over  level  vistas  of 
waving  green.  In  the  Wagner  car,  wherein  I 
occupied  chair  No.  12,  there  were  seven  per 
sons,  five  gentlemen,  including  myself,  and 
two  ladies,  who  sat  nearly  opposite  to  me. 
One  of  them  was  an  elderly  woman  with  a  sal 
low,  careworn  countenance.  The  other  was 
a  young  lady  not  over  twenty-four,  and  a  more 
strikingly  beautiful  face  I  never  before  had 
seen.  Anon  her  rose-red  lips  moved  in  mur 
murs  too  low  to  be  caught  by  the  ear,  but 
which  seemed  to  be  framing  happy  phrases. 

The  elderly  woman  gazed  with  a  dull,  curi 
ous  concern  at  the  young  lady  for  a  time,  and 
then  composing  herself  in  a  half- recumbent 
position,  closed  her  eyes,  and  evidently  was 
soon  sound  asleep.  The  young  lady  continued 
her  soft  whisperings  to  herself,  now  smiling 
with  sudden  transport,  now  lapsing  into  ab 
straction.  On  a  sudden,  observing  that  I  was 
119 


The  Bow -Legged  Ghost 

watching  her  intently,  she  bowed  cordially 
and  smiled.  I  returned  the  salutation  with 
hastily  summoned  gallantry. 

She  immediately  rose  from  her  chair,  crossed 
the  narrow  aisle  of  the  car,  and  extended  her 
hand  to  me. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Bering?"  she  said 
with  unaffected  courtesy.  "  I  little  dreamed 
of  meeting  any  one  on  this  train  I  should 
know.  When  did  you  leave  New  York  ? ' ' 

When  did  I  leave — ha!  ha!  evidently  a 
case  of  mistaken  identity.  I  had  not  been  to 
New  York  in  six  months.  I  was  both  per 
plexed  and  embarrassed.  The  confidence  game 
had  been  played  on  me  once  or  twice  with  ill- 
starred  success,  but  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  associate  her  with  any  such  employment. 
No  ;  this  delicious  creature  thought  she  knew 
me,  and,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  I  was  com 
pletely  fascinated  with  her,  I  felt  mischiev 
ously  inclined  to  lead  her  on. 

Sol  said:    "I  left  New  York  last  night." 

"Indeed!  so  did  we.  By  the  way,  Mr. 
Bering,  I  heard  you  had  gone  abroad.  You 
told  me  the  last  time  we  met  at  the  Academy 
of  Besign,  you  remember,  that  you  were 
going." 

"  I  did  intend  to  go/'  I  ventured,  "  but  was 


A    Parlor  -  Car  Romance 

obliged  to  postpone  the  journey  on  account  of 
business. " 

"Business!"  she  retorted  with  testy  sar 
casm,  "why,  I  thought  you  were  going  on 
that  account.  But  I  never  knew  that  an  art 
ist,  who  deals  exclusively  with  the  ideal, 
could  degrade  his  art  by  calling  it  business." 

She  laughed  heartily,  as  though  conscious 
of  having  said  a  good  thing.  While  speak 
ing,  she  seated  herself  in  the  chair  next  to 
mine.  I  was  now  somewhat  puzzled  for  an  an 
swer.  Not  knowing  how  much  I  might  say 
without  betraying  myself,  I  concluded  that  it 
would  be  a  wise  policy  to  remain  silent  until 
another  subject  was  broached. 

"How  is  your  friend,  the  Professor?"  she 
asked,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  He  was  feeling  very  well  the  last  time  I 
saw  him,"  I  replied,  with  an  assumed  air  of 
interest. 

' '  Then  he  has  entirely  recovered  from  the 
gout  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  he  always  will  have  occasional  at 
tacks  of  it,  I  suppose." 

"It  is  such  a  pity,"  she  went  on,  "for  a 
man  of  his  talent  to  be  so  afflicted.  They  say 
his  wife  is  very  devoted  to  him.  The  Profes 
sor  gave  me  eight  terms  on  the  piano,  you 


TJie  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

know.  I  think  his  method  of  instruction  is 
simply  perfect.  I  was  informed  the  other  day 
that  his  son  — let  me  see,  what  is  his  Christian 
name  ? ' ' 

A  painful  silence  ensued.  I  would  have 
given  a  year's  salary  to  have  been  able  to  tell 
her  the  name  of  the  Professor's  son. 

"His  name?  Well,  really,  it  escapes  me 
just  at  this  moment.  I  never  knew  him  very 
well." 

"  How  strange!  he  is  one  of  your  pupils  in 
drawing,  is  he  not?" 

"Yes,  but  forgetting  names  is  one  of  my 
weaknesses,"  I  said  evasively.  She  never 
finished  what  she  started  to  say  about  the 
Professor's  son,  and  I  was  exceedingly  glad 
she  changed  the  subject.  For  five  minutes 
she  seemed  lost  in  sober  reverie. 

Then  suddenly  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
grown  large  and  distended,  and  signs  of  nerv 
ous  perturbation  in  her  manner,  "Julian, 
there's  no  use  of  our  masquerading  before 
each  other  any  longer.  You  know  very  well 
you  were  jealous  of  me  because  I  went  to  the 
Rivington's  ball  with  my  cousin,  Brooklyn 
Percy,  and  out  of  sheer  revenge  you  escorted 
that  silly  plebeian  Cora  Walsingham  to  the 
Italian  Opera.  After  we  became  engaged  you 


A   Parlor -Car  Romance 

always  declared  that  whatever  faults  I  might 
discover  in  you,  I  should  not  find  an  atom  of 
jealousy  among  them,  for,  in  any  emergency, 
you  insisted  that  you  could  trust  me.  And 
the  very  first  test  I  put  upon  your  confidence 
showed  how  little  you  knew  yourself.  Don't 
you  think  it  was  scandalous  and  cruel  to  treat 
me  in  that  way?  But  I  forgive  you.  We 
must  make  up,  Julian,  and  have  no  more  un 
pleasantness.  I  won't  go  to  any  more  parties 
with  my  cousin  —  first  cousin,  mind  you  — 
Brooklyn,  and  of  course  I  cannot  allow7  you 
after  this  to  be  even  civil  to  Cora." 

'This  is  getting  rather  melo-dramatic," 
said  I  to  myself.  Now  and  then  the  elderly 
woman  moved  restlessly  in  her  sleep,  and  fear 
ing  she  would  awaken  and  make  it  even  more 
exciting  for  me,  my  anxiety  to  terminate  the 
interview  became  agonizing  before  the  lady 
had  finished  her  mysterious  monologue.  The 
singular  turn  of  her  conversation  had  set  me 
all  agog.  Was  she  trying  to  impose  upon  me 
for  the  sake  of  amusement,  or  was  she  ad 
ministering  wThat  she  considered  a  deserved 
punishment  for  my  impudent  stare  ?  Yet  the 
magic  by  which  she  held  me  robbed  my  mind 
of  reason,  and  it  mattered  not  that  her  words 
were  inexplicable,  so  charmingly  were  they 
123 


The  Borc-Lcggcd  Ghost 

uttered.  If  she  really  mistook  rme  for  her 
lover  Julian,  I  was  not  going  to  object.  It 
was  a  truly  novel  sensation  to  me  to  feel  that 
I  was  engaged,  especially  to  such  a  goddess. 
I  only  hoped  the  illusion  would  never  desert 
her,  and  that  it  would  all  end  in  our  being 
married.  I  know  that  some  people  who  read 
this  will  deplore  my  lack  of  good  equine 
sense,  and  deny  such  a  thing  as  love  at  first 
sight  in  these  extraordinary  circumstances.  I 
can  only  recommend  those  who  take  this  view 
of  the  case  mentally  to  put  themselves  in  my 
romantic  place;  otherwise  their  criticism  will 
not  possess  the  justice  of  impartiality.  Love 
is  blind,  they  say,  and  in  the  present  instance 
he  was  deaf  to  the  meaning,  though  not  to  the 
music  and  charm  cf  this  fair  woman's  discourse. 

"We  must  bear  and  forbear  with  each 
other,"  she  continued.  "I  believe  you  are 
the  greatest  man  in  the  world,  and  will  do 
great  and  heroic  deeds,  and  you  must  believe 
me  the  dearest,  sweetest,  and  most  affectionate 
woman  on  earth.'' 

"  I  do,"  I  said,  in  quavering  tones. 

"  Do  you,  dear?  " 

She  supplemented  the  query  by  an  unex 
pected  action.  She  threw  her  arms  about  my 
neck  and  lavished  upon  my  lips  rapid,  burning 
124 


A    Parlor -Car  Romance 

kisses.  The  men  in  the  car  regarded  my  situ 
ation  with  intense  amusement.  At  this  junc 
ture  a  tall,  well-dressed  gentleman  entered  the 
rear  door  of  the  car,  approached  rapidly  to 
where  the  lady  sat,  and,  touching  her  arm,  said 
gently:  "Come,  Constance,  sit  over  here,  I 
have  something  to  tell  you.'' 

She  allowed  him  to  assist  her  to  her  chair, 
in  which  she  leaned  forward  as  he  whispered 
something  in  her  ear  and  pointed  out  of  the 
window.  He  then  roused  the  elderly  woman 
from  her  nap,  and,  with  a  look  of  displeasure, 
if  not  of  anger,  spoke  to  her  in  an  undertone. 
The  beautiful  young  lady's  attention  evidently 
had  been  wholly  transferred  from  me  to  some 
thing  at  which  she  was  gazing  intently  out 
of  the  window.  The  gentleman,  now  motion 
ing  me  to  follow  him,  proceeded  forward  to 
the  smoking  compartment.  I  noticed  his  dis 
turbed  expression,  and  as  I  rose  to  comply 
with  his  request  I  wondered  if  he  intended  to 
end  my  existence  with  a  bullet. 

"  I  trust,"  he  began,  after  we  were  seated, 
"that  you  will  overlook  —  that  you  will  par 
don  the  unusual  behavior  of  the  lady  who  has 
been  addressing  you.  My  wife  is  hopelessly 
insane,  and  we  are  now  taking  her  to  the  Utica 
Asylum." 

125 


77ic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Tear-drops  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke, 
and  his  sorrow  deeply  impressed  me.  He  of 
fered  no  further  explanation,  and  stammering 
out  a  few  awkwardly  assorted  words  of  sym 
pathy,  I  returned  to  my  chair  —  for  my  hand 
bag.  I  knew  it  wTould  be  torture  to  remain  in 
her  presence  and  be  ogled  by  the  passengers. 
With  feelings  shocked  and  ashamed,  I  glanced 
for  the  last  time  at  my  fair  divinity,  who  was 
gazing  serenely  out  of  the  window.  I  sighed, 
and  went  into  the  next  car. 


126 


A  Telling  Speech 

i 

DECLARE,  it  seems  as  though  folks  in  this 
-.  place  git  stingier  ev'ry  year.  Squire 
Huggleton  and  Mr.  Kerr,  the  store 
keeper,  and  Jerry  Hix,  who  keeps  the  tavern, 
have  all  put  their  feet  down  on  subscribin'  for 
any  doin's,  and  so  Accident  Centre  ain't  goin' 
to  have  any  Fourth  o'  July.  Them  that  wants 
to  celebrate  real  bad  '11  have  to  ride  thirteen 
miles  to  Crowville,  but  I'll  warrant  the  show 
they  git  up  '11  be  pretty  slim  to  what  we're 
used  to  when  we  do  anything  'tall  in  that 
line." 

The  widow  Crumps,  while  giving  utterance 
to  the  foregoing  remarks,  proceeded  to  tidy 
up  the  chamber  wherein  her  one  summer 
guest,  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  of  Xew  York,  also  a 
widow,  languidly  endeavored  to  make  herself 
at  home. 

"But,"  asked  Mrs.  Van  Xess,  "cannot 
other  people  in  the  village  get  up  a  celebration 


7'hc  BOTH -Legged  Ghost 

without  the  aid  of  the  men  you  mention,  if 
they  try?" 

"I  s'pose  they  could,"  answered  Mrs. 
Crumps  somewhat  dubiously,  "but  it  wouldn't 
be  worth  talkin'  about  afterwards.  I'm  so 
sorry  they're  goin'  to  let  the  Fourth  slip  by 
this  year  without  so  much  as  liftin'  a  finger. 
The  reason  for  my  havin'  these  feelin's,  Mrs. 
Van  Ness,  is  just  this  :  You  know,  they  gen 
erally  have  a  greased  pole,  with  a  silver  watch 
or  some  other  valuable  prize  on  top  of  it.  The 
person  that  climbs  the  pole  first  gits  it.  Well, 
Zeb  has  been  practicin'  climbin'  a  greased  pole 
that  he  fixed  up  in  our  barn,  for  quite  a  spell 
back,  and  he  says  he's  larnt  how  it's  done.  So 
you  see,  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  why  I'm  anxious  for 
a  celebration.  I'm  sure  Zeb  could  win  the 
silver  watch,  or  whatever  it  was,  and  we  do 
need  all  we  can  git  our  hands  on  without 
stealin'." 

By  way  of  consolation  to  Mrs.  Crumps, 
Mrs.  Van  Ness  ventured  the  suggestion  that 
the  squire,  the  merchant,  and  the  landlord 
might  be  more  public-spirited  and  patriotic 
the  following  year.  The  idea  afforded  a  bit 
of  comfort  to  the  widow  Crumps,  and  pres 
ently  she  went  into  the  kitchen,  smiling  with 
the  hope  that  twelve  months  and  a  fortnight 
128 


A   Telling  Speech 

from  that  time  her  only  child,  Zeb,  a  strap 
ping  youth  of  nineteen,  would  accomplish  his 
ambition  successfully,  by  climbing  the  greased 
pole  and  thereby  adding  to  the  family  posses 
sions. 

Accident  Centre  is  a  trim  little  village  of  six 
hundred  inhabitants,  situated  in  a  fine  valley 
in  one  of  our  great  Middle  States.  Within  a 
few  miles  of  the  town,  the  mountain  streams 
for  years  have  lured  the  metropolitan  angler, 
who  is  fond  of  bringing  to  his  summer  cottage 
a  creditable  catch  of  the  finny  beauties  that 
disport  in  those  laughing  waters.  Among 
the  New  Yorkers  who  had  become  enamored 
of  the  region  on  account  of  the  recreation  to 
be  had  along  its  leaping  ghylls,  was  Richard 
Treadwell,  a  rising  young  attorney.  Mrs. 
Van  Xess  had  employed  young  Treadwell  as 
counsel  to  defend  a  suit  brought  against  her 
husband's  estate  by  a  son  and  daughter  by  his 
first  wife,  the  children's  claim  being  that  they 
were  entitled  to  a  larger  amount  of  the  prop 
erty  than  was  named  in  the  old  gentleman's 
will,  which  they  tried  to  prove  was  the  out 
come  of  ' '  undue  influence  ' '  on  the  part  of  the 
second  wife,  to  whom  the  major  portion  of  the 
estate  had  been  bequeathed.  After  a  long 
litigation,  Treadwell  won  the  suit,  and  also, 

9  129 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

though  quite  unwittingly,  the  affections  of 
Mrs.  Van  Ness,  his  client.  The  fees  he  had 
intended  to  ask  for  his  professional  services 
were  by  herself  voluntarily  doubled,  and  he 
was  soon  made  aware  of  the  fact  that  Mrs. 
Van  Ness  was  rather  desperately  in  love 
with  him. 

Though  unusually  attractive  in  person,  well 
bred,  and  in  a  way  gifted,  and  a  later  arrival 
on  earth  by  several  months  than  himself,  the 
young  widow  Van  Ness  was  not  the  ideal 
woman  concerning  whom  Treadwell  had  in 
dulged  in  more  or  less  vague  speculation.  His 
sentimental  indifference  to  her  nettled  her 
pride,  while  at  the  same  time  it  goaded  her  to 
a  feminine  determination  to  bring  him,  in  the 
course  of  time,  to  her  feet.  She  unexpectedly 
appeared  in  public  places  where  a  study  of  his 
course  of  life  led  her  to  know  he  would  be. 
Thus  it  was  that  soon  after  he  went  to  Acci 
dent  Centre  with  some  friends  one  summer,  he 
met  Hortense  Van  Ness  face  to  face  in  the  vil 
lage  street.  In  his  not  exuberant  greeting  he 
naturally  expressed  his  wonder  at  seeing  her  in 
this  out-of-the-way  and,  for  a  Gotham  woman 
of  fashion,  uninteresting  place.  But  did  Mr. 
Treadwell  remember,  if  he  ever  had  known, 
that  she  was  very  fond  of  trout  fishing  her- 
130 


A   Telling'  Speech 

self,  and  that  she  asked  no  odds  of  any  mascu 
line  manipulator  of  a  fly-rod  along  a  mountain 
stream  ?  Treadwell  honestly  exhibited  sur 
prise  at  this  revelation,  but  experience  with 
her  enabled  him  to  penetrate  her  mask.  On 
the  whole,  he  was  displeased,  and  somewrhat 
abruptly  bade  her  good-day. 

Contrary  to  her  usual  habit,  Mrs.  Van  Ness 
did  not  arrive  in  the  village  with  a  big  splurge 
of  Saratoga  trunks,  maids,  and  her  own  horses; 
she  did  not  engage  the  best  suite  of  rooms  at 
the  Hix  House.  She  came  unheralded,  with 
one  modest  trunk  and  some  minor  luggage, 
and  found  a  quiet  home  —  painfully  quiet  to 
her  —  at  the  widow  Crumps'. 

Now  it  chanced  that  in  Accident  Centre 
there  dwelt  a  young  woman  by  the  name  of 
Marian  Forsyth.  She  could  grand  discount 
any  other  lass  or  matron  in  the  village  or 
township  in  the  tournament  of  beaut}7;  nor  in 
the  county,  if  in  the  State,  was  there  her  equal. 
Treadwell  fell  in  love  with  her  the  first  time 
he  saw7  her,  at  a  private  picnic  in  the  balsamic 
woods.  On  that  occasion  he  betrayed  his  in 
fatuation  many  times,  but  his  perceptions  were 
sufficiently  keen  to  discern  that  she  did  not 
exactly  fancy  him.  Marian  was  an  orphan. 
Disappointed  in  his  political  ambitions,  her 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

father  had  died  the  previous  year.  Colonel 
Forsyth  had  served  with  honor  in  the  Civil 
War  and  had  enjoyed  an  extensive  legal  prac 
tice  after  leaving  the  army.  He  had  left  his 
only  child  motherless,  but  with  a  comfortable 
annuity,  and  a  maiden  aunt  had  since  come  to 
live  with  her  as  a  companion.  Marian  was 
still  in  mourning  for  her  father. 

ii 

THE  Fourth  of  July  —  not  to  be  celebrated 
in  Accident  Centre,  because  the  three  leading 
citizens  had  so  determined  by  their  refusal  to 
provide  the  requisite  funds  for  the  purpose  — 
promised  to  be  a  dreary  day  to  all  the  inhabi 
tants,  but  to  two  city  visitors  in  particular. 
Mrs.  Van  Ness  half  wished  she  were  at  Sara 
toga  or  elsewhere,  because  she  was  out  of  con 
ceit  with  the  probability  that  Mr.  Treadwell, 
though  but  a  few  rods  away,  would  call  on  her. 

To  Richard  Treadwell  it  was  a  gloomy  day, 
though  the  skies  themselves  were  bright  and 
cloudless,  because  he  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  himself.  His  proposed  trip  to  a  certain 
trout  preserve  had  been  postponed  on  account 
of  the  failure  of  other  members  of  the  party  to 
appear.  He  finally  concluded  to  send  a  note 
to  Marian  asking  if  she  would  let  him  pay  her 
132 


A   Telling  Speech 

a  call.  He  sent  the  message  by  Zeb,  who  was 
hostler  and  man-of-all-work  at  the  Hix  House. 
After  some  delay  Zeb  bounced  into  Treadwell's 
room  in  the  hotel,  without  stopping  to  knock, 
and  said:  ' '  Here,  sir,  this  letter's  from  Marian  ; 
and  as  I  come  down  the  street,  that  ere  Mrs. 
Van  Ness  that  is  stoppin'  at  ma's  house  tole 
me  to  give  this  to  ye,  too." 

Two  notes:  one  perfumed  and  written  on 
delicately  tinted  stationery;  the  other  on  coarse, 
commercial  note  paper,  placed  in  an  envelope 
that  did  not  match  its  size.  But  think  you  on 
which  Treadwell's  eyes  lingered  the  longer? 
In  the  order  that  he  read  them  follow  the  two 
communications:  — 

MR.  RICHARD  TREADWELI,. 

Dear  Sir:  —  As  Mr.  Tom  Levine  is  on  probation, 
which  means  that  if  he  proves  to  be  all  I  dare  think 
he  is  now,  it  would  not  be  right  for  me  to  receive  you 
to-day  as  a  caller, —  knowing  as  I  do  your  thoughts, — 
I  suggest  that  you  defer  your  call  indefinitely. 

MARIAN  FORSYTH. 

And  thus  ran  the  other  note:  — 

MY  DEAR  MR.  TREADWEL.L:  — 

It  would  be  cruel  of  you  not  to  know  that,  pent-up 
as  we  are  in  this  dull,  benighted  hamlet,  with  not  even 
a  church  festival  to  look  forward  to.  it  is  your  chival 
rous  duty  to  call  on  one  who  has  reposed  in  you  such 

133 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

implicit  confidence  in  the  past.  By  the  way,  we  have 
never  fished  together  for  trout,  so  you  do  not  know  my 
skill.  But  ugly  rumors  are  afloat  that  you  have  a  fair 
divinity  in  this  town.  If  this  be  true  I  herewith  can 
cel  my  invitation,  unless  you  really  care  to  see  me. 
Sincerely, 

HORTENSE  VAN  NESS. 

Treadwell  spent  the  day  in  his  room  smok 
ing,  reading  a  French  novel,  and  thinking  in 
a  very  serious  vein. 

in 

ONE  year  later.  The  morning  of  the  ' '  Ever 
Glorious."  All  the  inhabitants  of  Accident 
Centre  early  leave  their  beds.  Anon  thunder 
ous  reports  are  heard  from  the  hillside,  where 
several  boys  are  engaged  in  loading  and 
"touching  off"  the  "Old  Mortar,"  made 
years  ago  by  Sandy  Dow,  the  blacksmith.  As 
the  sun  climbs  higher  up  the  eastern  azure, 
country  folk  begin  to  pour  into  the  village. 
Some  of  them  come  in  creaking  "lumber" 
wagons,  some  in  spic-and-span  "buggies," 
others  on  foot.  Accident  Centre  wears  quite 
a  gala  air.  From  the  cupola  of  the  Academy 
waves  a  bright  flag;  another  floats  in  the 
breeze  from  an  upper  window  of  the  Hix 
House,  and  other  smaller  flags  are  to  be  seen 


A   Telling  Speech 

here  and  there  the  entire  length  of  Main  Street. 
Bob  Yokam,  the  hunchback,  has  with  much 
exertion  erected  a  wayside  booth  on  a  vacant 
lot  next  to  the  tin-shop,  and  here  expects  to 
do  a  thriving  day's  trade  in  peanuts,  ginger- 
snaps  made  by  his  mother,  red  lemonade, 
rootbeer  brewed  by  himself,  and  cheap  cigars. 
Rustic  urchins  are  already  burning  punk,  set 
ting  off  fire  crackers,  and  hurling  torpedoes  in 
the  street.  It  is  going  to  be  a  great  day. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  Rocky  Dell  Fife 
and  Drum  Corps  enter  the  village  playing  a 
martial  tune.  They  stop  in  front  of  the  Hix 
House  and  render  ' '  The  Girl  I  L,eft  Behind 
Me,"  with  thrilling  effect.  A  fat  man  plays 
the  bass  drum,  which  is  strapped  in  front  of 
him.  He  pounds  on  both  heads  of  the  instru 
ment  with  two  neatly-turned,  knobbed  sticks. 
In  certain  passages  he  seems  *to  get  in  more 
beats  than  the  showy  snare  drummer  him 
self. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  procession  forms  opposite 
the  hotel  for  the  march  to  the  grove,  where 
patriotic  exercises  are  to  be  held.  It  is  headed 
by  the  marshal  of  the  day,  Squire  Huggleton, 
who  has  "  come  down  handsomely  "  this  year 
to  help  defray  the  expenses  of  the  celebration. 
Next  comes  the  Accident  Centre  Silver  Cornet 
J35 


77ic  Bo-^v-Leggcd  Ghost 

Band,  every  one  of  whose  twelve  members  ap 
pears  fully  to  appreciate  the  importance  of  the 
occasion,  especially  the  drum  major.  Then 
follow  in  pairs  the  leading  citizens  of  the  vil 
lage  :  Doctor  Peters  ;  Rev.  Mr.  Kirby,  pastor 
of  the  Methodist  Church  ;  Rev.  Mr.  Harding, 
of  the  Baptist  Church  ;  Mr.  Gabble,  editor  of 
the  Accident  Centre  Defender,  beside  whom 
walks  Richard  Tread  well,  Esquire,  of  New 
York,  who  has  accepted  the  invitation  to 
deliver  an  oration. 

The  exercises  in  the  Grove  begin  with 
prayer,  offered  by  the  Baptist  clergyman. 
Then  the  band  plays,  and  then  little  Willie 
Gordon,  the  prodigy  of  the  village,  "  speaks  a 
piece,"  which  elicits  from  certain  females  in 
the  assemblage  such  exclamations  as,  "Ain't 
he  jest  too  cute  ?  "  "  Did  you  ever  ?  "  "  Well, 
if  he  ain't  cunriin' !"  etc.  Miss  Lucy  Smart, 
the  teacher  of  the  primary  department  in  the 
Academy,  follows  with  a  trembling  and  flus 
tered  reading  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence.  The  Clover  Valley  Glee  Club  sing 
"The  Star-Spangled  Banner,"  and  for  an  en 
core  "Oh,  Promise  Me,"  and  then  merchant 
Kerr,  the  President  of  the  Day,  expresses  his 
rare  pleasure  in  introducing  Richard  Tread- 
well.  The  latter,  dressed  in  a  close-but- 
136 


'  A    Telling"  Speech 

toned  Prince  Albert,  rises,  and  in  an  easy, 
graceful  manner  enters  upon  his  discourse. 
There  is  no  spread  eagle  or  bombast  in 
his  peroration.  Occasionally  he  rises  to  true 
eloquence.  The  dark  eyes  of  the  widow 
Van  Ness  are  riveted  upon  him,  but  he 
does  not  recognize  her  in  the  sea  of  up 
turned  faces.  Marian  Forsyth  is  also  there, 
but  she  gives  little  heed  to  what  he  is  saying, 
until,  in  referring  to  the  brave  men  who  wrent 
to  the  front  in  the  Civil  War,  he  mentions 
the  name  of  Col.  John  L,.  Forsyth,  to  whose 
memory  he  pays  an  impassioned  and  glowing 
tribute.  Whatever  may  be  Tread  well's  mo 
tive,  certain  it  is  these  tender  allusions  to  her 
father  go  home  to  Marian's  heart.  The  tact 
ful  and  eloquent  words  bring  tears  to  her  eyes, 
and  through  them  she  sees  Richard  Treadwell 
in  a  new,  not  to  say  fonder,  light  —  magnified 
to  the  proportions  of  a  hero.  The  address 
makes  a  profound  impression  on  every  one 
and  is  conceded  to  be  quite  worthy  of  Colo 
nel  Forsyth  himself,  who,  when  alive,  was 
acknowledged  to  be  the  greatest  orator  in 
that  section. 

Many  people  have  arranged  to  take  dinner  in 
the  Grove,  but  Richard,  refusing  a  number  of 
invitations,  returns  to  the  hotel.  After  dinner 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghbst 

he  sends  a  note  by  a  small  boy  to  Marian  For- 
syth,  asking  if  he  may  call.  The  small  boy 
comes  back  with  word  that  she  has  gone  to  the 
cemetery.  Thither  he  loses  no  time  in  making 
his  way. 

At  this  very  moment  the  afternoon  sports 
and  revels  are  beginning.  The  Procession. of 
Horribles,  young  fellows  on  stilts  and  dressed 
in  outlandish  feminine  attire,  etc. ,  creates  much 
mirth.  The  wheelbarrow  races  are  equally  in 
teresting  to  the  excited  mob.  But  the  greased 
pole  seems  to  gather  the  greatest  crowd.  On 
its  top  is  fastened  a  new  silver  watch,  donated 
by  Mrs.  Van  Ness,  who  hopes  Zeb  will  cap 
ture  it.  Great  fun  is  it,  indeed,  to  watch  those 
who  endeavor  to  climb  the  pole.  Jack  Ha- 
gan,  something  of  a  local  athlete,  gets  about 
a  quarter  of  the  way  up,  and  then  slips  to  the 
ground  exhausted.  Then  Zeb,  his  jaw  firmly 
set,  determination  in  his  eyes,  clasps  the  base 
of  the  greasy  pole  in  his  brawny  arms.  Slowly 
he  begins  to  climb.  The  crowd  applauds. 
But  his  ears  are  deaf  to  the  cries:  "  Go  it  Zeb! 
He'll  git  the  ticker!  He's  been  practicin'," 
etc.  He  has  gained  half  the  distance  up  the 
pole  and,  panting,  pauses  to  rest.  Alas!  when 
he  resumes  his  task,  he  suddenly  loses  his  grip 
and  falls  to  the  ground  with  a  groan.  Poor 
138 


A   Telling  Speech 

Zeb!  he  leaves  the  jeering  throng,  a  picture 
of  dejection.  The  watch  is  not  for  him.  .  .  . 

Richard  Treadwell  has  one  good  reason  for 
assuming  that  Marian  will  pleasantly  receive 
him.  Some  months  ago  Tom  Levine  was  dis 
covered  in  the  act  of  taking  money  from  a  reg 
istered  letter,  by  Postmaster  Kerr,  his  em 
ployer.  Before  he  could  be  prosecuted  Tom 
fled  from  Accident  Centre.  Where  he  now  is 
no  citizen  of  the  place  knows,  though  it  is 
rumored  that  he  is  in  Canada. 

Richard  finds  Marian  kneeling  over  her 
father's  grave.  He  apologizes  for  his  intru 
sion.  She  extends  her  hand,  and  in  a  quaver 
ing  voice  thanks  him  for  his  public  tribute  to 
her  father.  Before  releasing  her  hand  he  begs 
the  priceless  gift  for  life.  She  cannot  speak 
at  once — but  as  the  afternoon  wears  on  she 
knows  her  own  heart  better.  As  the  twilight 
comes  they  leave  the  cemetery.  They  are 
both  superlatively,  silently  happy,  as  plighted 
lovers  are,  in  the  first  dawning  of  their  troth. 
Sauntering  leisurely  toward  Marian's  home, 
they  meet  Zeb. 

"I  didn't  git  the  watch,  Mr.  Treadwell," 
he  exclaims.  "A  feller  I  didn't  know  from 
up  the  river,  jest  went  up  that  pole  like  a 
monkey,  and  pocketed  the  watch.  Somebody 


The  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

said  he  had  some  kind  of  clamps  on  his  hands. 
But  in  the  washtub  race  on  the  creek,  I  beat 
'em  all,  Galley  West  !  and  here's  the  ten-dol 
lar  gold  piece  to  prove  it." 

"  I  am  glad  you  won  something,  Zeb. " 
"Oh,  say,  Mr.  Tread  well,  I  almost  forgot. 
Mrs.  Van    Ness    wanted    me    to  tell 'you   she 
wanted    to    see    you    most   partic'lar    to-day. 
She's  over  to  ma's  house  now." 

' '  Tell  Mrs.  Van  Ness  she  will  have  to 
excuse  me  to-day,  as  I  am  most  particularly 
engaged,'"  answers  Richard,  with  a  significant 
glance  at  Marian,  as  they  go  onward  together. 


The   Great   Sparrow   Dispute 

i 


AX  HOLLENBECK  had  been  robbed  of 
over  six  hundred  thousand  dollars  — 
nearly  all  he  had  in  the  world.  Matthew 
Rayfield,  his  guardian,  had  fled  to  parts  un 
known  with  the  money,  leaving  the  young 
man  to  hustle  for  himself  as  best  he  could. 

Naturally  Braban  Hollenbeck  was  very 
much  crushed  and  humiliated  by  the  loss  of 
his  fortune.  He  was  also  very  much  en 
raged  with  Matt  Rayfield,  and  disgusted  with 
the  human  race  in  general.  Hollenbeck'  s 
previous  record  for  honesty  had  never  been 
questioned,  but  now  a  mad  desire  possessed 
him  to  earn  his  livelihood  by  some  sort  of 
cunning  mendacity.  Because  he  himself  had 
been  victimized,  he  illogically  and  wrongly 
reasoned  that  it  would  be  all  right  to  dupe 
others. 

It  was  several  weeks,  however,  before  Hol- 
leubeck  proceeded  to  act  upon  his  desperate 
141 


The  BoTU-Legged  Ghost 

resolution.  He  never  had  done  any  hard 
work  in  his  life,  and  during  his  idle  existence 
he  had  acquired  a  love  of  ease  which  is  a  com 
mon  characteristic  of  the  well-circumstanced 
young  man  of  America.  Whenever  Hollen- 
beck  ran  out  of  cash  he  would  sell  some  of  his 
books,  objects  d'art,  or  clothing,  and  thus  he 
managed  until  he  had  disposed  of  nearly  all  of 
his  domestic  and  personal  effects. 

On  a  particular  morning  in  April  he  was 
impressed,  for  the  first  time,  with  the  contrast 
between  his  past  and  present  surroundings. 
The  wralls  of  his  cozy  library  that  had  been 
covered  with  canvases  of  celebrated  art 
ists  were  now  destitute  —  even  of  the  four 
little  water-color  studies  by  Tadema,  which 
had  been  taken  to  Slee  &  Blake's  gallery  and 
there  disposed  of  at  a  shameful  sacrifice. 

"  My  lot  is  becoming  very  forlorn,  indeed," 
said  Hollenbeck  to  himself,  as  he  began  to 
strop  his  razor  preparatory  to  removing  from 
his  face  a  three-day's  growth  of  blonde  stub 
ble.  "  About  the  only  thing  remaining  is  the 
six-hundred-dollar  music  box  I  bought  in 
Florence.  That  w7ould  not  probably  bring 
more  than  a  hundred  now.  Thank  heaven,  I 
have  in  my  pocket  two  hundred  and  fifty  of 
the  mighty  dollars — the  proceeds  of  the  sale 
142 


The   Great   Sparrow   Dispute 

yesterday    of    my    two     handsome     Limoges 
vases." 

Having  completed  his  toilet,  Braban  Hol- 
lenbeck  ceased  his  dismal  monologue  and  went 
to  one  of  the  many  Italian  restaurants  that  are 
becoming  so  popular  among  Bohemians  in  the 
metropolis,  to  eat  his  breakfast.  While  thus 
engaged  he  casually  picked  up  a  morning  news 
paper,  and  soon  his  attention  was  arrested  by 
the  following  advertisement :  — 

"  A  GENTLEMAN  \vho  is  dying  desires  to  sell  a  se 
cret  by  which  much  money  can  be  made.  Apply  per 
sonally  to-day  at  Houston  Street.  Inquire  for 

Mr.  Dunglison." 

"This  is  rather  odd,"  observed  the  young 
man  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  ' '  But  a  dying 
man  wrould  not  be  likely  to  play  tricks  on  peo 
ple.  I  think  I  will  call  on  Mr.  Dunglison,  and 
if  he  can  point  out  to  me  the  way  to  a  lucrative 
business  I  don't  mind  paying  for  the  informa 
tion." 

Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Hollenbeck  was 
entering  a  narrow  doorway  on  East  Houston 
Street.  A  slatternly-looking  Irish  woman  met 
him  in  the  dark  and  not  over-clean  hall,  and 
he  asked  her  to  direct  him  to  Mr.  Dunglison' s 
room. 


The  Bo-ju-Leggcd  Ghost 

"Poor  soul,"  said  the  woman,  resting  her 
arms  akimbo  and  evidencing  a  willingness  to 
be  communicative.  "  He  is  not  long  for  this 
world.  He  had  another  bad  spell  yesterday, 
and  the  doctor  says  he  will  not  live  till  sun 
down.  His  room,  sorr,  is  up  three  flights. 
Just  knock  on  the  back  door  to  the  left." 

Following  these  directions,  the  young  man 
presently  stood  in  a  dingy  chamber,  in  one 
corner  of  which  was  a  rude  cot.  On  it  an 
emaciated  old  man  was  lying.  His  eyes, 
deeply  ringed  with  blue-black  lines,  were  ter 
ribly  sunken.  His  whole  appearance  was 
pathetic,  and  a  simple  glance  at  him  proved  to 
the  visitor  that  Mr.  Dunglison  was  dying. 
The  old  man  stretched  out  his  gaunt  hands, 
saying :  — 

"Young  man,  you  have  come  in  answer  to 
my  advertisement?" 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  Hollenbeck. 

"The  doctor  had  it  inserted  in  the  paper 
for  me.  I  only  want  one  hundred  dollars  — 
enough  to  give  me  a  decent  burial.  Will  you 
give  me  that  sum  for  my  great  secret  ? ' ' 

Hollenbeck  hesitated  for  a  moment.  The 
pitiful  sight  of  the  old  man,  however, 
prompted  him,  irrespective  of  the  possible 
value  of  the  secret,  to  answer  "  Yes." 


The  Great   Sparrow   Dispute 

"Promise  me  on  your  honor,  young  man." 

"I  promise,"  declared  Holleubeck,  sol 
emnly. 

"  Well,  I  have  the  recipe  for  dyeing  spar 
rows  yellow,  so  that  they  look  exactly  like 
canary  birds." 

After  making  this  statement,  Mr.  Dunglison 
succeeded  in  raising  himself  partially  on  his 
elbow.  The  effort  set  him  to  coughing 
violently,  and  he  sank  back  on  the  ragged  pil 
low  quite  exhausted.  In  a  few  moments  he 
recovered  his  voice,  though  it  was  huskier 
than  before  and  resumed  :  — 

"After  you  dye  these  birds  you  can  sell 
them  for  canaries  for  a  dollar  or  more  apiece. 
See  ?  The  recipe  is  there  on  the  mantel  with 
some  other  directions.  You  can  hire  boys  to 
trap  the  sparrows  and  sell  them  for  you  on  the 
streets  after  they  are  treated.  There's  money 
in  it.  There's  a  great  deal  of  money  in  it.  I 
carried  on  this  business  in  London  for  many 
years,  but  one  of  my  boys  finally  peached  on 
me  because  I  would  not  raise  his  wages,  and  I 
had  to  fly.  On  the  voyage  to  this  country  — 
that  was  over  a  year  ago — I  caught  a  heavy 
cold,  and  I  have  been  ailing  ever  since.  I  have 
spent  all  my  money  in  living  and  medicines, 
and  you  see  how  near  the  grave  I  am. ' ' 
10  I45 


The  Boiv-Lcggcd  Ghost 

The  old  man's  throat  rattled,   and 
beck  shuddered. 


ii 

As  THE  doctor  had  predicted,  Mr.  Dunglison 
died  before  sundown  on  that  day.  Hollenbeck 
stayed  with  him  until  he  ceased  to  breathe, 
and  then  with  a  dumb  awe  he  placed  in  his 
pocket  the  recipe,  below  which  a  half-dozen 
bits  of  advice  were  jotted  down  in  a  clumsy 
chirography,  and  went  to  an  undertaker,  to 
whom  he  gave  one  hundred  dollars  on  condi 
tion  that  he  would  take  charge  of  Mr.  Dungli- 
son's  remains  and  properly  inter  them  —  a 
task,  be  it  said,  that  the  undertaker  faithfully 
performed. 

Hollenbeck  went  to  his  room  deeply  musing 
over  the  strange  suggestion  he  had  received 
from  the  lips  of  the  dying  man.  He  asked 
himself  if  it  would  be  ridiculous  for  him  to  try 
to  prosecute  this  deceitful  enterprise,  but  he 
could  not  answer  the  question  satisfactorily, 
and  he  went  to  bed  in  a  fever  of  bewilderment, 
not  being  able  to  decide  what  to  do.  For  days 
he  remained  irresolute  and  baffled,  and  the  in 
tensity  of  his  absorbed  ruminations  on  this 
subject  began  to  affect  his  health.  Insomnia 
seized  him  for  its  own.  Great  hollow  circles 
146 


The  Great   Sparroiu  Disptite 

appeared  under  his  eyes  and  an  abnormal  pal 
lor  rested  on  his  emaciated  face.  He  lost  his 
appetite,  and  went  about  with  the  morbid  look 
and  manner  of  a  hypochondriac.  Sad  to  re 
late,  Braban  Hollenbeck  had  become  half  mad. 
The  gleam  of  incipient  insanity  could  be  dis 
tinguished  in  his  eyes.  But  he  did  not  sit  idly, 
and  sulk.  His  mania  was  to  retrieve  his  lost 
fortune,  and  he  resolved  to  carry  out  old  Dun- 
glison's  scheme. 

Converting  all  of  his  remaining  Lares  and 
Penates,  including  the  music  box,  into  cash, 
Hollenbeck  rented  four  rear  rooms  in  a  tene 
ment  house  on  the  East  Side.  He  purchased 
a  large  copper  kettle  in  which  to  make  the 
chemical  dye,  and  in  course  of  a  fortnight 
completed  all  other  necessary  preparations. 
He  advertised  for  assistants  between  the  ages 
of  seventeen  and  thirty-five,  and  more  appli 
cants  appeared  than  he  could  engage.  He 
hired  ten  men  to  set  forth  into  different  sur 
rounding  parts  of  the  country  to  catch  spar 
rows,  promising  the  sum  of  twenty-five  dol 
lars  to  each  one  who  should  bring  him  two 
hundred  of  the  live  birds.  None  of  these 
assistants  was  informed  why  Hollenbeck 
wanted  these  sparrows,  and  in  his  eagerness 
to  gain  the  offered  money  he  did  not  pause  to 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

inquire.  Moreover,  each  man  was  advanced 
five  dollars  for  expenses,  and  furnished  an 
apparatus  with  which  to  trap  the  birds. 

After  deciding  to  embark  in  the  tentative 
pursuit  recommended  to  him  by  poor  old 
Dunglison,  Hollenbeck  had  made  some 
investigations  not  only  as  to  the  character 
and  habits  of  the  sparrow, —  the  very  pariah 
of  ornithology, —  but  also  as  to  the  most 
effective  devices  and  methods  employed  in 
its  capture.  His  researches  acquainted  him 
with  the  fact  that  the  so-called  English 
sparrow  does  not  fall  an  easy  prey  to  an 
ordinary  trap,  for  it  is  a  cunning  and  sus 
picious  bird,  that  quickly  takes  alarm.  He 
learned  that  one  method  of  capture  was  by  the 
use  of  nets,  with  the  assistance  of  decoy  and 
braced  birds.  The  outfits  and  appliances  Hol 
lenbeck  obtained  at  no  great  expense,  and  with 
them  his  ten  hirelings  departed  for  the  wilds 
of  New  Jersey,  up  the  Hudson,  into  the  agri 
cultural  section  of  Westchester  County,  and 
into  "darkest"  L,ong  Island.  It  was  on  a 
Monday  in  the  latter  part  of  May  when 
they  left  their  employer,  with  comprehensive 
instructions. 

In  the  meantime,  Hollenbeck  set  his  copper 
pot  boiling,  and  prepared  some  of  the  wonder- 
148 


The  Great   Sparrow   Dispute 

ful  dye.  He  experimented  on  half  a  dozen  or 
more  sparrows  that  he  had  purchased  at  a 
bird  dealer's,  and  the  result  was  remarkably 
successful.  The  sparrows  in  their  yellow  garb 
looked  unmistakably  like  canaries,  and  when 
fed  a  little  yellow  corn  or  wheat,  or  soaked 
stale  bread,  they  indulged  in  a  musical  chirp, 
that  one  could  easily  fancy  was  a  canary's 
cadenza. 

On  the  following  Wednesday  one  Joe  Belloc 
came  to  Hollenbeck  with  three  hundred  and 
six  specimens  of  the  passer  domcstica.  That 
day  Hollenbeck  dyed  all  these  sparrows  and 
placed  them  in  a  large  wire  cage  built  from 
the  sanded  floor  to  the  ceiling.  He  also  had 
had  constructed  a  receiving-cage  extending 
around  three  walls  of  another  room. 

At  twilight  two  young  men  came  in  answer 
to  an  advertisement  Hollenbeck  had  put  in 
the  papers  under  the  heading,  "Bird  Sellers 
Wanted."  Both  of  these  young  men  thought 
they  could  do  \vell  selling  these  canaries  on 
the  street,  on  a  commission  of  twrenty  per 
cent.  They  were  instructed  to  sell  them  at 
one  dollar  apiece,  if  it  could  be  got,  if  not, 
then  for  fifty  cents. 

Then  he  cautioned  them  as  to  the  proper 
way  of  handling  the  birds  and  of  feeding 
149 


TJie  BOIU- Legged  Ghost 

them,  and  each  young  man  went  away  with 
twenty-five  of  the  bright-yellow  canaries, 
with  instructions  to  report  on  the  following 
Saturday. 

During  the  next  day  three  of  Hollenbeck's 
trappers  came  in  with  a  combined  catch  of 
eight  hundred  and  thirty-four  birds.  He  paid 
the  men  liberally  and  sent  them  out  again. 
He  also  engaged  seven  additional  men  to  sell 
the  canaries,  assigning  two  of  them  to  Brook 
lyn,  one  to  Newark,  one  to  Jersey  City,  and 
the  others  to  the  streets  of  New  York.  Hol- 
lenbeck  was  very  careful  in  dipping  each  spar 
row  in  the  dye,  which  process  he  repeated 
three  times,  according  to  the  recipe.  His  es 
tablishment  soon  began  to  resemble  the  nest 
of  some  great  industry,  and  he  entertained 
high  hopes  of  amassing  a  fortune  within  a 
short  time.  He  found  that  more  captive  spar 
rows  were  accumulating  on  his  hands  than 
he  could  readily  sell  as  canary  birds,  and  be 
gan  to  cudgel  his  brains  to  ascertain  in  what 
manner  he  could  dispose  advantageously  of 
the  surplus.  At  last  it  occurred  to  him  that 
the  sparrows  must  have  some  merchantable 
value  as  an  article  of  food,  and  straightway  he 
wrent  to  Maracelli,  Viadello,  and  one  or  two 
other  Italian  restaurateurs,  wrho  agreed  to  take 


The  Great  Sparrow  Dispute 

all  the  sparrows  he  could  supply  them  at  fifty 
cents  per  dozen.  He  then  made  a  new  ar 
rangement  with  his  trappers  whom  he  discov 
ered  he  was  paying  altogether  too  much  money 
to  guarantee  him  a  reasonable  profit.  He 
contracted  to  give  them  two  cents  apiece  for 
all  the  dead  sparrows  brought  him,  and  five 
cents  for  all  the  live  ones. 

By  this  time  Hollenbeck's  business  wras  very 
prosperous,  and  the  way  in  wrhich  he  had  sys 
tematized  it  showed  that  there  was  method  in 
his  madness.  Not  only  did  his  own  trappers 
bring  him  sparrows  now,  but  hundreds  of 
.specimens  of  this  graminivorous  and  gregari 
ous  bird  were  shipped  alive  to  him  from  vari 
ous  parts  of  the  West  and  South.  He  sold  a 
great  many  of  them  to  Italian  restaurants.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  sparrow  for  centuries  has 
been  used  as  an  article  of  food  and  is  regarded 
by  some  people  as  equal  in  flavor  to  many  of 
the  smaller  game  birds.  Sparrows  galore  are 
actually  served  in  metropolitan  restaurants  as 
rice-birds  and  reed-birds,  and  sometimes  as 
larks,  in  table  d'hote  places  run  by  foreigners, 
and  they  have  been  quoted  in  the  market  —  at 
prices,  however,  considerably  lowrer  than  those 
commanded  by  Hollenbeck. 


The  Bo-jc-Lcgged  Ghost 

in 

SOME  six  months  later  Xew  York  society 
was  set  in  a  flutter  by  reading  the  following 
piece  of  information  published  in  a  morning 
newspaper :  — 

"Yesterday  afternoon  Mr.  Braban  Hollenbeck, 
formerly  an  esteemed  member  of  aristocratic  circles  in 
this  city,  was  arrested  by  Officer  Maloney  on  several 
charges  of  fraud  preferred  by  aggrieved  parties.  All 
the  particulars  of  the  case,  which  promises  to  be  a 
highly  sensational  one,  have  not  been  revealed  as  yet, 
but  enough  has  been  learned  to  put  readers  of  Gotham 
Gossip  into  possession  of  the  main  facts. 

"  It  will  be  remembered  that  Braban  Hollenbeck's 
guardian,  Matthew  Rayfield,  a  church  deacon,  and 
supposed  to  be  one  of  the  most  upright  and  respect 
able  business  men  in  Xew  York,  absconded  with  all  of 
the  young  man's  fortune,  aggregating  over  half  a  mil 
lion,  most  of  which  was  in  transferable  bonds  and 
other  securities.  Where  Matthew  Rayfield  went  or 
where  he  is  now  keeping  himself,  echo  gives  but  a 
vague  and  mocking  answer.  The  loss  of  his  fortune 
is  said  to  have  greatly  embittered  young  Hollenbeck's 
cup  of  existence, —  in  short,  to  have  partially  unseated 
his  reason,  and  he  was  driven  to  such  straits  that  he 
became  desperate  and,  at  length,  joined  the  grand 
army  of  fakirs  who  outrage  the  credulity  of  the  public 
and  pause  at  no  alternative  —  unless  it  be  murder,  and 
not  always  then  — to  earn  a  livelihood. 

"  This  young  Hollenbeck, — an  only  child, —  born  in 
the  lap  of  luxury,  reared  tenderly  by  parents  who  for 
several  years  have  been  lying  at  rest  in  Greenwood, 


77ic  Great   Sparrow   Dispute 

given  a  college  education  and  the  untold  benefits  of 
cultured  surroundings,  the  moment  fortune  ceased  to 
smile  on  him,  fell  to  the  level  of  a  petty  swindler.  For 
a  number  of  months  he  has  been  devoting  himself  to 
the  singular  occupation  of  dyeing  sparrows  and  sell 
ing  them  on  the  streets,  through  agents,  as  canary 
birds.  His  revenue  from  the  business  is  said  to  have 
been  fabulously  large.  Several  complaints  from  par 
ties  victimized  have  been  sent  to  police  headquarters 
from  time  to  time,  and  last  week  the  Inspector  put  de 
tectives  on  the  track  of  the  offender.  The  latter  was 
traced  to  a  tenement  on  Avenue  A,  and  was  appre 
hended  in  the  very  act  of  dyeing  a  poor,  innocent,  lit 
tle  sparrow,  to  be  hawked  on  the  street  as  a  real  South 
American  singing  canary.  The  man  who  was  found 
guilty  of  this  misdemeanor  was  taken  to  the  station 
house,  and  there  gave  his  name  as  Braban.Hollenbeck. 
He  will  be  remanded  to  a  cell  in  the  Tombs  to-day  to 
await  a  hearing.  He  doubtless  will  be  tried  during 
the  coming  week,  and  it  will  be  interesting  to  learn 
what  line  of  defense  his  counsel  will  follow.  More 
concerning  this  absurd  young  scion  of  a  reputable 
family  will  appear  in  these  columns  anon." 

Many  people  who  knew  of  Braban  Hollen- 
beck  read  the  foregoing  article  at  their  break 
fast  tables  and  were  more  or  less  amazed. 
Old  Mr.  Yuling,  after  reading  it,  said  to  his 
daughter,  in  whose  set  the  accused  had  once 
been  a  conspicuous  figure  :  — 

"Sybil,  I  see  your  friend,  Braban  Hollen- 
beck,  has  fallen  into  trouble,  poor  fellow." 


TJic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

' '  In  what  way,  papa  ? ' ' 

"Oh,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  "he's 
been  vending  sparrows,  dyed  yellow,  under 
false  pretenses,  making  folks  believe  they  were 
canary  birds." 

"  How  appalling  !" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  protested  Mr. 
Yuling,  taking  a  sip  of  coffee.  ' '  It  shows  the 
young  man  is  not  wholly  wanting  in  inge 
nuity.  He  knew  he  had  to  do  something  for 
a  living,  and  probably  he  did  not  think  it  was 
imposing  on  the  public  to  go  into  this  scheme, 
especially  as  the  public  never  seems  to  get  its 
fill  of  humbuggery. ' ' 

"  Oh,  papa,"  broke  in  Sybil,  with  a  vanity- 
engendered  pout  that  through  long  indulgence 
had  become  a  confirmed  habit  with  her,  ' '  how 
can  you  say  that  it  was  honest  for  Braban  to 
do  such  a  low  thing  ? ' ' 

"  Nonsense,  child.  You  haven't  lived  long 
enough  to  know  half  the  things  a  man  is 
willing  to  be  guilty  of  for  money.  Besides,  I 
haven't  any  sympathy  with  sparrows.  They 
are  the  greatest  pests  ever  introduced  into 
this  country.  Why,  you  know  very  well  how 
many  times  I  have  called  them  names  —  the 
little  sinners.  They  have  done  more  harm  to 
the  crops  on  the  old  Hardenburgh  farm  up  in 
154 


The  Great  Sparrow  Dispute 

Dutchess  County,  on  which  I  hold  a  mort 
gage  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  foreclose  one 
of  these  days,  than  anything  else.  Talk  about 
the  sparrow  being  an  insectivorous  bird  !  Well, 
there's  nothing  in  it,  Sybil ;  there's  noth 
ing  in  it." 

"Still,"  ventured  Sybil,  boldly,  "a  spar 
row  is  not  a  canary  bird,  is  it  ?  " 

"Xo,"said  Mr.  Yuling,  sarcastically,  "a 
sparrow  is — a  curse  to  any  country.  It  \vas 
first  brought  into  the  United  States  in  the  fall 
of  1850,  I  believe,  and  it  has  been  creating 
havoc  here  ever  since.  For  my  part,  I  rather 
approve  young  Hollenbeck's  scheme  to  put 
into  captivity  a  bird  that  can  and  will  eat 
nearly  every  vegetable  product  grown  on  a 
farm  or  in  a  garden.  It  would  have  been  more 
sensible,  however,  if  he  had  set  about  to  exter 
minate  them  altogether,  which,  unfortunately, 
he  could  not  have  done.  Oh,  I  hate  spar 
rows  ! ' ' 

At  the  same  hour,  in  a  house  situated  a  lit 
tle  farther  up  Fifth  Avenue,  the  widow  Cress- 
well  and  her  daughter  Teresa  were  discussing 
Hollenbeck's  arrest. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Teresa,  "I  think  Bra- 
ban's  conduct  is  simply  atrocious  !  But  how 
glad  I  am  that  he  is  no  longer  my  admirer. 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

If  he  were  known  to  be  now,  I  should  be 
humiliated  to  death.  The  idea  of  his  stooping 
to  such  a  low  and  ignominious  thing  to  make 
money. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Cresswell,  "you  must 
remember  he  was  desperate  over  the  loss  of 
his  property,  arid  I  don't  believe  people  will 
blame  him  so  much,  after  all,  when  all  the 
facts  are  disclosed.  I  know  your  uncle,  John 
Pettigrew,  up  in  Sullivan  County,  never  can 
say  enough  against  sparrows.  He  says  they 
breed  faster  than  any  express  train  can  travel, 
and  they  have  nearly  eaten  him  out  of  house 
and  home.  I  suppose  there  are  many  other 
farmers  who  agree  with  brother  John  about 
it." 

"  But  how  do  Uncle  John's  opinions  excuse 
Braban's  dishonest  course?"  put  in  Teresa 
somewhat  testily. 

"I  don't  know  that  they  do,"  replied  her 
mother,  ' '  but  it  doesn't  seem  so  wicked  to  deal 
with  sparrows  in  that  way  as  it  would  if  they 
were  —  robins,  for  instance." 

But  Teresa  was  quite  convinced  of  the 
enormity  of  Hollenbeck's  guilt  ;  and  other 
young  ladies  who  had  met  him,  but  did  not 
know  him  so  well  as  Teresa,  shared  her  con 
viction.  There  were  others  who  openly  sym- 
156 


The  Great   Sparrow   Dispute 

pathized  with  Hollenbeck.  The  case  began 
to  make  an  unusual  stir  among  the  news 
papers  after  a  certain  well-known  naturalist 
had  come  out  in  cold  print  in  an  indirect  de 
fence  of  the  young  man.  He  maintained  that 
there  were  many  reasons  to  refute  the  claim 
that  the  sparrow  was  essentially  an  insectivor 
ous  bird  ;  that  while  the  sparrow  was  known 
to  destroy  certain  insects  injurious  to  fruit, 
the  sparrow  itself  fed  upon  fruit  and"  cereals, 
and,  in  fact,  upon  almost  anything  that  can 
be  devoured  by  a  worm  or  insect.  He  further 
pointed  out  the  fact  that  the  sparrow  is  a  jeal 
ous  and  malicious  enemy  of  many  of  our  cher 
ished  native  species,  and  that  it  molests,  wages 
war  against,  and  kills  robins,  mocking  birds, 
wrens,  martins,  yellow  warblers,  etc.  Accord 
ing  to  this  naturalist,  four-fifths  of  all  the  evi 
dence  published  in  Government  reports  con 
cerning  the  English  sparrow7  in  North  Amer 
ica,  especially  in  its  relation  to  agriculture, 
had  been  disparaging,  if  not  condemnatory. 
In  conclusion,  he  said  that  the  tide  of  public 
opinion  had  turned  against  the  sparrow7,  and 
that  the  desire  now  to  get  rid  of  this  bird  pest 
was  stronger  than  had  been  the  desire  fifty 
years  ago  to  import  and  introduce  it  through 
out  the  country. 


The  Bo"w-Legged  Ghost 

A  practical  nurseryman  and  fruit-grower 
then  took  up  his  pen  in  protest  against  the 
sparrow,  and  he  indorsed  not  only  every 
thing  the  naturalist  had  written,  but  added 
several  opinions  of  his  own,  and  he  particu 
larly  urged  that,  owing  to  the  inestimable 
numerical  increase  of  the  passer  domestica 
each  year,  every  State  in  the  Union  should 
offer  a  bounty  for  its  destruction.  Then  sev 
eral  champions  of  the  sparrow  offered  their 
views  in  print,  and  the  controversy  assumed 
national  importance.  It  especially  interested 
society  on  account  of  young  Hollenbeck,  who 
meanwhile  was  languishing  in  the  Tombs. 

One  morning  Bob  Varick  sought  and  ob 
tained  admission  into  Hollenbeck 's  cell.  He 
had  not  been  talking  five  minutes  with  his  old 
friend  when  he  detected  that  the  latter  was 
not  his  mental  self  ;  in  a  word,  that  he  was  as 
good  as  non  compos  -mentis. 

On  the  following  day,  through  Varick 's  ef 
forts,  Hollenbeck  was  examined  as  to  his 
sanity  by  two  competent  physicians,  who  pro 
nounced  him  to  be  "disturbed  in  mind." 
That  same  afternoon,  by  an  order  of  the 
court,  the  charges  against  Hollenbeck  were 
dismissed,  and  he  was  taken  to  Bloomingdale 
158 


The  Great  Sparro~u  Dispute 

under  the  escort  of  Bob  Varick  and  a  police 
officer.  In  that  institution  Braban  Hollen- 
beck  is  still  confined,  but,  as  he  has  not  been 
declared  incurable,  there  are  hopes  that  he 
will  yet  walk  forth  into  God's  sunshine  and 
free  air  —  a  restored  man. 

Meanwhile,  the  great  sparrow  dispute  is 
still  in  progress,  with  the  odds  against  the 
sparrow. 


159 


"Brooms" 

5fp  S'POSE  folks  think  I  am  a-goin'  for  her 
M*  money.  Well,  I  don't  care  if  they  do.  You 
see,  George,  it  wasn't  altogether  my  fault. 
She  is  one  of  them  girls  that  is  a  stalwart 
in  her  likes  and  dislikes.  She  couldn't  have 
been  more  than  twelve  years  old  when  she 
first  said  that  she  liked  me,  and  she  stuck  to 
it  up  to  the  minute  I  bid  her  good-bye,  and 
started  for  Japan.  What's  a  feller  to  do  when 
a  girl  keeps  tellin'  him  she's  in  love  with  him  ? 
Of  course,  I  had  to  give  in  after  awhile.  I 
knew  her  father  would  fume  over  it,  and  call 
me  a  rascal ;  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  couldn't 
help  likin'  her,  and  I  thought  to  myself,  if  she 
liked  me  well  enough  to  marry  me,  it  would 
not  make  so  much  difference  what  her  Gover 
nor  said,  anyway." 

These  remarks  were  made  by  Tom  Abercoru 
on  the  deck  of  an  American  man-of-war,  an 
chored  in  an  Eastern  port.     We  spent  many 
idle  afternoons,  as  old  friends  will,  in  reminis- 
160 


"/.> 'rooms  " 

cent  conversation.  I  had  been  cruising  about 
the  world  for  nearly  three  years  before  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  was  tired  of  it.  A  mere 
romantic  caprice,  considerably  reenforced  by 
Tom  Abercorn's  brusque  persuasion,  had  led 
me  into  the  service  in  the  first  place,  and  now 
that  the  glamor  of  marine  experience  had  worn 
off,  I  began  to  wonder  whether  I  would  not 
be  happier  on  land. 

There  was  some  reason  to  believe  that  Tom 
was  also  growing  dissatisfied,  though  he  sel 
dom  hinted  anything  to  that  effect.  He  was 
a  rough-and-ready  fellow,  and  the  life  of  the 
sea  was  more  suited  to  his  nature  than  to 
mine.  While  I  was  at  college,  breaking  down 
a  naturally  delicate  constitution  by  hard  study, 
he  was  in  a  machine  shop,  developing  an  iron 
muscle  that  I  had  occasion  to  envy  more  than 
all  the  erudition  I  had  acquired. 

But  while  Tom  \vas  physically  adapted  to 
cope  with  ocean  vicissitudes,  there  was  a 
magnet  that  ever  drew  his  thoughts  ashore. 
He  was  engaged  to  be  married.  The  father 
of  his  inamorata  was  a  large  and  wealthy 
broom  manufacturer  in  Philadelphia,  and  Tom 
always  spoke  facetiously  of  the  young  lady 
as  "Brooms."  In  fact,  that  was  the  nick 
name  by  which  she  was  called  by  the  mem- 
ii  161 


The  Boia-Legged  Ghost 

bers    of   her    family    and    her   most    intimate 
friends. 

"  But  Mr.  Grayling  knows  all  about  it  now," 
continued  Tom,  after  a  pause.  "  Brooms  told 
him.  I  fancy  he  would  have  been  pretty  mul 
ish,  if  he  hadn't  seen  it  was  no  use  ;  so  he 
said:  'Do  you  love  him?'  and  Brooms  re 
plied:  'What  do  you  take  me  for,  papa,  a 
hypocrite?'  Then  the  old  man  said,  'All 
right,  marry  him.' ' 

Any  further  conversation  was  cut  off  by  the 
gruff  voice  of  the  executive  officer.  The  ves 
sel  was  trespassing  upon  the  channel,  and  the 
harbor  master  had  sent  an  order  for  it  to  anchor 
further  out  in  the  roadstead,  so  that  it  would 
not  be  an  obstacle  in  the  course  which  ships 
entering  or  leaving  port  were  obliged  to  take. 

Tom  immediately  went  to  his  duties  in  the 
engine  room,  where  he  met  with  an  accident 
which  nearly  cost  him  his  life.  At  nearly  the 
foot  of  the  iron  hatchway  he  slipped  and  fell, 
so  that  his  left  foot  caught  in  a  rapidly  re 
volving  crank.  Before  he  could  throw  his 
arms  over  his  shoulders  and  grasp  an  iron  rod 
to  extricate  himself,  his  leg  was  horribly  man 
gled  just  below  the  knee,  by  another  revolu 
tion  of  the  crank.  He  fainted  away  before 
help  could  be  summoned. 
162 


'•'•Brooms  " 

After  Tom  had  been  carried,  unconscious, 
to  the  deck,  I  set  about,  in  the  absence  of  the 
surgeon,  who  was  ashore,  to  check  the  flow  of 
blood  from  the  wound  by  twisting  a  handker 
chief  around  the  upper  part  of  the  limb  with 
a  tourniquet.  When  the  surgeon  appeared  on 
the  scene,  he  assured  me  that  I  had  saved  my 
friend's  life,  though  the  leg  must  be  ampu 
tated  at  once,  he  declared,  as  he  gazed  on  the 
poor  man  groaning  with  agony. 

And  against  all  of  Tom's  protestations  he 
was  borne  into  a  cockpit  and  laid  on  a  table. 
The  surgeon  insisted  that  there  wras  not  even 
time  to  administer  ether.  I  have  forgotten 
how  many  men  were  required  to  hold  him.  It 
W7as  wholly  beyond  my  courage  to  stand  by  and 
see  them  mutilate  my  comrade  with  all  those 
knives  and  saws.  Into  his  mouth  they  forced 
woolen  cloth,  to  serve  the  double  purpose  of 
muffling  his  cries  and  furnishing  him  some 
thing  to  bite  on. 

At  last  it  was  over,  and  then  they  gave  him 
opiates.  From  the  time  his  wound  was  band 
aged  I  became  his  nurse,  and  watched  over 
him  through  the  long  days  and  nights  as 
though  he  were  a  brother.  He  grew  so 
emaciated  and  weak  that  no  one  would  have 
recognized  him  as  the  whilom  strong,  muscu- 
if,3 


The  Boiv-Leggcd  Ghost 

lar  Tom  Abercorn.  But  he  began  to  mend 
after  a  few  weeks,  though  his  convalescence 
was  slow. 

He  grew  nervously  morbid,  and  frequently 
when  reading  to  him  I  would  look  from 
my  book  and  find  him  sobbing  hysterically. 
I  did  not  interrupt  his  grief,  thinking  it 
was  but  the  natural  result  of  physical  weak 
ness.  But  one  day  when  I  was  about  to 
read  to  him  his  favorite  poem,  "The  L,ady 
of  the  Lake,"  he  begged  me  to  defer  it. 
He  was  unusually  pale  and  thoughtful  on 
this  occasion.  On  the  previous  night  he 
had  been  in  great  pain,  and  exceedingly 
restless. 

"George,"  said  he,  in  a  serious  tone,  "I  am 
going  to  wrrite  Brooms  that  our  engagement  is 
off,  and  tell  her  why.  I  am  only  half  a  man 
now."  and  he  made  a  droll  feint  of  taking  off 
his  shoe  from  the  foot  that  had  been  ampu 
tated. 

"  If  I  were  to  insist  upon  marrying  her  she 
would  be  dreadfully  disappointed,  because 
Brooms  is  the  proudest  woman  I  ever  did  see. 
It  would  cut  her  to  the  quick  to  know  she  had 
to  be  the  wife  of  a  one-legged  man.  I'm  sure 
she  would  be  too  much  ashamed  to  walk  out 
with  a  husband  who  always  had  to  carry  a 
164 


'•''Brooms  " 

crutch.     Yes,  I'm  going  to  give  Brooms  her 
freedom." 

An  interval  of  silence  followed,  and  then  I 
commenced  to  reason  with  him,  but  he  shook 
his  head  stubbornly,  and  would  not  listen.  He 
requested  me  to  get  pen  and  paper  and  write 
down  his  dictation.  It  was  useless  putting 
him  off ;  he  would  call  another  shipmate  if 
I  refused,  so  I  brought  writing  materials, 
propped  him  up  on  the  pillows,  and  indited 
the  following,  substantially,  as  it  came  from 
his  lips  :  - 

l\Iy  Darling  Brooms :  —  I  address  you  thus  for 
the  last  time.  I  have  met  with  an  accident,  and  only 
have  one  leg  left  to  meet  another  of  like  nature.  I  am 
very  sorry  for  both  our  sakes  that  all  this  has  hap 
pened,  because,  through  the  loss  of  my  limb,  I  must 
lose  you,  for  I  know  you  have  enough  sense  not  to  care 
for  only  half&  man.  Burn  up  my  letters  and  picture. 
The  latter,  I  believe,  is  full  length,  and  no  longer  a 
correct  likeness.  Keep  the  parrot  I  brought  you  from 
the  South  Seas,  by  which  to  remember  me  as  I  once 
was  when  I  could  climb  to  the  maintop  quicker  than 
any  jolly  tar  aboard  the  Natalie.  I  hope,  by  the  time 
I  get  back,  you'll  be  married  and  settled  down,  with 
a  baby  named  after  me.  If  Tom  were  a  longer  name, 
I'd  insist  upon  you  splitting  it  in  two,  just  because  — 
but  never  mind  why,  Brooms.  You'll  make  some  solid 
man  the  sweetest  little  wife  on  earth.  There,  good 
bye,  Brooms  !  I  could  add  to  the  brine  of  the  old  sea, 
if  I  were  leaning  over  the  deck  rail.  As  it  is,  I  am 
165 


The  Bo-vo-Lcgged  Ghost 

wetting  a  handkerchief,  and  my  friend  who  writes  this 
for  me  is  a  witness.  Brooms,  I'll  never  forget  you, 
and  am  your  old  friend  always.  TOM. 

Tom  managed  to  scratch  down  his  own  sig 
nature.  He  requested  me  to  mail  the  letter, 
and  sinking  back  in  the  folds  of  the  pillows, 
exhausted,  was  soon  in  slumber.  I  did  not 
dare  detain  the  note.  After  struggling  against 
a  strong  desire  to  do  so,  I  took  it  ashore  with 
me  in  the  afternoon. 

Tom  was  calmer  after  that ;  he  seemed  sto 
ically  resigned.  He  refused  to  take  any  more 
thin  broth,  and  demanded  "something  to 
eat.  "  His  irritability  \vas  a  sign  of  improve 
ment  in  health.  Tom's  bluntness  sometimes 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  anger. 

One  morning,  about  three  months  afterward, 
he  surprised  everybody  by  calling  for  his 
clothes  and  the  crutch  that  had  been  provided 
for  him.  Having  been  up  in  a  chair  several 
times,  we  assisted  him  into  his  clothes  and  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  totter  on  deck. 

That  afternoon  he  received  a  letter  from 
Brooms,  and  this  is  what  it  said  :  — 

My  Precious    Old    Boy:  —  For    you    are    precious 

now  that  there  isn't  so  much  left  of  you;  I  want  you 

distinctly  to  understand  that  your  relics  belong  to  me. 

What  there  is  of  you  I  want,  if  it  isn't  more  than  a 

166 


''•Brooms  " 

little  finger.  You  needn't  think  I'm  going  to  let  you 
off,  even  if  you  do  sacrifice  a  member  in  the  hopes 
that  I  will.  No,  indeed!  I  am  not  that  kind  of  a 
woman. 

Oh,  Tom,  I  am  so  sorry  that  you  have  lost  a  leg.  It 
will  spoil  all  our  pleasure  at  dances,  and  you  did  use 
to  enjoy  waltzing  so  much;  but  I  don't  care  if  you  will 
only  come  home  and  marry  me.  If  you  write  such  a 
letter  as  your  last  after  you  get  this  one,  I  shall  go 
stark  mad  and  not  try  to  recover.  I  think  I  shall  be 
able  to  bring  you  under  the  domestic  yoke,  because 
you  cannot  run  away  from  me.  I  am  going  to  let  my 
finger  nails  grow  and  get  in  training,  as  pugilistic  par 
lance  has  it,  for  you.  I  do  hope  you've  got  about 
enough  of  the  service  to  last  you  for  life.  Oh,  dear 
Tom,  won't  you  come  back?  I  would  love  you  just  as 
much  if  both  your  legs  were  gone.  Have  you  received 
the  box  of  neckties,  etc.,  yet? 

With  undying,  unaltering  love,  I  am  yours  only, 

BROOMS. 

I  knew,  before  Tom  had  finished  perusing 
the  letter,  by  the  joyful  expression  on  his  face, 
that  Brooms  had  not  consented  to  the  discon 
tinuance  of  their  relations.  He  sprang  up, 
grasped  his  crutch,  bade  me  follow  him,  and 
hobbled  into  a  corner  where  he  read  me 
Brooms' s  letter. 

"Ain't  she  a  darlin' ?  "  he  asked,  care 
fully  placing  the  message  in  his  pocket. 

Our  vessel  was  a  Government  cruiser,  and 
167 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

had  put  into  this  port  for  repairs.  When  she 
was  finally  released  from  the  dry  dock,  the 
Natalie  set  out  for  New  York,  where,  in  due 
course,  we  arrived.  Tom  and  myself  were 
honorably  discharged  from  the  service,  and 
parted,  he  going  to  Philadelphia  and  I  to 
Boston. 

A  few  weeks  later  I  received  an  invitation 
to  Tom's  wedding,  and  decided  to  attend  it. 
The  occasion  was  almost  pathetic.  The  beauty 
of  Brooms,  upon  which  I  had  heard  Tom  di 
late  so  often,  was  undeniable.  As  she  stood 
up  with  him,  her  beryl-tinted  eyes  flashing 
with  the  fire  of  a  woman's  love,  her  cheeks 
suffused,  her  lips,  like  wet  coral,  murmuring 
the  responses  tremulously,  the  white  serge  all 
about  her  graceful  throat,  and  the  orange  blos 
soms  in  her  Titian  hair,  I  must  confess  that 
for  once  the  matter-of-fact  Tom  Abercorn  ex 
cited  my  envy.  And  when  it  was  all  over  and 
the  guests'  presents  had  been  duly  examined 
and  admired,  Brooms' s  father,  with  redundant 
graciousness,  handed  her  a  deed  to  an  elegant 
stone  house  in  Germantown,  and  told  the 
bride  and  groom  it  was  to  be  their  future 
home.  One  of  the  guests  informed  me  that 
Mr.  Grayling  had  settled  upon  his  daughter 
an  annuity,  and  I  came  away  fully  convinced 
1 68 


"Brooms  " 

I 

that  I  should  be  willing  to  spare  one  of  my 
legs  for  such  a  wife  and  such  a  father-in-law. 
Tom  is  at  present  a  slap-up  official  in  the 
Philadelphia  navy  yard.  He  doesn't  half  earn 
his  handsome  salary,  the  rascal.  There  is 
scarcely  anything  for  him  to  do.  Tom  is  lazy, 
I  fear, —  but  then,  he  can  afford  to  be;  and 
Brooms,  who  is  sole  heir  to  her  recently 
deceased  father's  estate,  is  constantly  teasing 
him  to  resign  and  let  the  old  navy  yard  go  to 
grass. 


169 


The  Bearded  Wife 


f  OUR  days  in  the  saddle  on  the  hot  alkali 
plains  of  Texas  had  fatigued  every  one 
in  the  part}',  and  we  were  glad  to  find  a 
haven  of  rest  at  Nat  Veley's  ranch.  As  we 
rode  up  to  his  trim  cabin,  he  saluted  us  cheer 
ily,  invited  us  to  dismount  and  spend  the  night. 

"There's  plenty  o'  room  up  in  the  loft, 
boys.  Jes'  bring  your  nags  round  to  the  corral. 
They  look  as  if  they  needed  some  fodder. ' ' 

Not  waiting  for  a  second  invitation,  we  teth 
ered  our  horses  and  soon  made  friends  with 
our  generous  host.  He  was  a  loose-jointed, 
grizzled  plainsman,  with  a  rough  exterior,  but 
with  a  heart  as  tender  as  a  child's.  On  enter 
ing  the  cabin  we  observed  a  singular-looking 
little  boy,  dressed  in  a  buckskin  suit,  elabor 
ately  trimmed  with  party-colored  beads,  black 
velvet  and  fringe.  It  was  not  his  attire,  how 
ever,  that  surprised  us,  but  his  silken  whiskers 
and  moustache.  Fancy  a  fair-faced  youth  of 
twelve  years,  with  all  the  hirsute  development 


The  Bearded  Wife 

of  a  grown  man,  and  you  will  have  some  idea 
of  this  little  fellow's  appearance.  He  was  en 
gaged  in  making  some  kind  of  a  trap. 

"This  is  my  son,  Toby,"  said  Nat,  as  he 
pointed  to  the  youngster.  ' '  Toby,  shake  hands 
with  the  gen'lemen.  They  have  come  all  the 
way  from  New  York  city  to  hunt. ' ' 

Toby  advanced  ingenuously  and  shook  hands 
with  the  four  visitors. 

"  He's  a  smart  kid,"  Nat  whispered  in  my 
ear.  ;<Them  whiskers  on  him  are  the  genu- 
ine  article.  I'll  tell  you  'bout  it  bimeby." 

"Shot  anything  yet?"  asked  Toby,  ad 
dressing  us  all  in  general. 

"  A  few  grouse  and  jack  rabbits,"  said  Col 
onel  Alabaster.  ' '  I  suppose  you  are  a  dead 
shot,  Toby." 

"That's  what  they  say,"  was  the  proud 
answer,  the  speaker  stroking  his  whiskers  like 
a  man  of  fifty. 

"Yes,  sir,"  put  in  Nat.  "The  kid  han 
dles  a  rifle  as  well  as  I  do.  See  that  stuffed 
eagle  on  top  o'  the  cupboard  ?  Wai,  he 
knocked  that  bird  off  the  limb  of  a  cotton- 
wood  'bout  six  months  ago.  He's  the  cham 
pion  snake  killer  in  these  parts.  He's  made 
over  a  hundred  dollars  out  o'  reptile  pelts." 

"A  regular  St.  Hubert,"  remarked  Profes- 
171 


The  Bow -Legged  Ghost 

sor  Broadbent,  who  had  come  along   for  the 
good  of  his  health. 

At  this  juncture  there  entered  from  an  ad 
joining  room  a  picturesquely-garbed  person, 
whom  Nat  immediately  introduced  as  his  wife. 
We  were  almost  stupefied  by  the  announce 
ment,  for  the  new-comer,  with  her  wavy  black 
whiskers,  jauntily  tilted  sombrero,  buckskin 
suit,  and  muscular  physique,  resembled  a  man 
more  than  a  woman.  She  wore  gold  hoops  in 
her  ears,  and  round  her  neck  a  string  of  coral 
beads,  with  a  pendant  ending  in  a  silver  cross. 
It  was  when  she  spoke,  that  we  knew  she  was 
a  woman. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  gentlemen,"  was  her 
polite  greeting.  "Sit  down  and  make  your 
selves  at  home.  I'll  get  supper  at  once,  for  I 
know  you  must  be  hungry.  Now,  Toby,  you 
just  pick  up  those  shavings  and  put  those 
tools  where  they  belong.  Nat,  get  a  pail  of 
fresh  water  right  away." 

Her  orders  were  not  delivered  in  a  peremp 
tory  or  test}-  manner,  and  she  was  promptly 
obeyed.  We  begged  Mrs.  Veley  not  to  put 
herself  to  any  extra  trouble  on  our  account,  to 
which  she  responded:  "Don't  mention  it. 
The  best  we  can  offer  will  be  poor  enough  for 
you." 

172 


The  Bearded   Wife 

Mrs.  Veley  proceeded  at  once  with  bustling 
preparations  for  the  evening  meal,  spreading 
a  coarse,  snowy  cloth  over  a  square  deal  table 
drawn  into  the  centre  of  the  room.  By  this 
time,  we  were  somewhat  recovered  from  our 
astonishment  at  the  sight  of  the  bewhiskered 
woman,  who  went  down  cellar  singing  a  senti 
mental  ditty  with  a  not  unpleasant  phrasing, 
as  though  not  conscious  of  our  presence  in  the 
dwelling. 

' '  What  have  we  struck  anyway  ?  ' '  queried 
Colonel  Alabaster,  with  a  comical  expression. 
' '  I  thought  at  first  we  had  found  the  original 
What  is  It." 

"She  is  merely  a  whimsey  of  nature,"  said 
the  professor,  with  an  austerity  of  look  which 
frequently  attended  his  erudite  utterances. 
' '  Such  cases  are  not  so  very  rare. ' ' 

"The  boy's  case  is  rather  remarkable,"  I 
ventured. 

"Heredity,"  said  the  professor,  with  the 
manner  of  one  whose  authority  could  not  be 
questioned  with  impunity. 

In  the  long  twilight  \ve  sat  quietly  review 
ing  our  recent  experiences  on  the  prairies, 
while  the  kid,  perched  cross-legged  on  the  top 
of  an  ancient  hair  trunk,  drank  in  every  word 
that  was  said.  Occasionally  he  would  chuckle 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

to  himself  and  murmur,  "  Tenderfeet. "  Nat 
came  and  went,  assisting  his  wife  with  a  rough 
grace  that  commended  him  the  more  to  our 
esteem. 

At  length  supper  was  announced,  and  a  more 
enjoyable  meal  I  never  ate  anywhere.  Beef 
steak  and  potatoes,  green  corn  on  the  cob, 
cold  slaw,  hot  biscuits,  tea,  molasses  cake,  and 
American  cheese  made  up  the  menu.  As  a 
postprandial  treat  Toby  recited  a  long  poem 
by  Larry  Chittenden,  the  "poet  ranchman," 
who  then  lived  about  fifteen  miles  from  Nat's 
home.  Being  vociferously  encored,  the  kid 
gave  another  recitation  which,  if  little  else, 
revealed  a  wonderful  memory.  During  the 
evening  we  played  a  few  modest  games  of 
poker,  to  which  the  professor  was  a  rather 
indifferent  spectator. 

When  his  bedtime  arrived,  Master  Toby 
was  marched  off  to  his  downy,  after  bidding 
us  a  hearty  good  night,  and  Mrs.  Veley  de 
clared  her  intention  of  retiring,  too,  as  she 
wished  to  get  up  early  the  next  morning  and 
help  round  up  some  steers. 

We  finished  our  game  at  ten  o'clock  and  sat 
quietly  smoking,  when  Nat,  who  was  pouring 
out  into  glasses  some  rum  punch,  which  he 
had  just  made,  exclaimed'.  "  Boys,  you've 


The  Bearded   Wife 

seen  that  my  wife  is  out  o'  the  ord'nary  run 
'o  women,  an'  I'll  jest  tell  ye  a  leedle  story. 
But  first,  I  want  to  know  if  you  ever  heerd  of 
Aha  Jiiarez  ?  ' ' 

None  of  us  remembered  having  heard  the 
name,  and  Nat  resumed  :  — 

"  Wai,  that  was  what  they  billed  her  when 
she  was  showin'  in  dime  museums,  but  I 
mustn't  git  ahead  o'  my  yarn.  Her  real  name 
was  Tillie  Dillon,  an'  she  comes  frum  a  good 
fam'ly.  Her  an'  me  used  to  go  to  school 
together,  an'  it  ain't  no  braggin'  to  say  she 
was  the  smartest  gal  o'  her  age  in  Dallas. 
Wai,  when  she  was  'long  'bout  fifteen  year 
old,  she  began  to  grow  a  beard.  It  was  the 
strangest  thing  that  had  ever  happened  in 
that  town  up  to  that  time.  I  guess  it  was  all 
o'  two  year  afore  her  whiskers  and  moustache 
growed  out,  but  fin'lly  they  got  to  be  so 
thick  and  bushy  that  no  man  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  wear  'em.  But  they  was  the 
plague  o'  her  life.  I  b'lieve  one  o'  her  aunts 
told  her  to  shave  'em  an'  keep  her  face  well 
powdered  ;  an'  a  barber  did  shave  her  four  or 
five  times,  till  the  doctor  was  called  in,  an'  he 
advised  her  not  to  tech  her  face  with  a  razor, 
'cause  shavin'  only  made  the  hair  come  out 
faster  an'  touher.  But  the  doctor  didn't 


Tlie  BOTV- Legged  Ghost 

pertend  to  understand  the  case.  He  jes'  said 
'twas  a  freak  o'  natur',  an'  she  might  as  well 
be  resigned  to  it,  fur  he  didn't  know  no 
remedy  fur  it. 

"Tillie  got  more  sensertive  'bout  it  all  the 
time,  fur  her  playmates  an'  some  o'  the  vil 
lagers  poked  fun  at  her  over  it.  I  used  to 
walk  home  from  school  with  her  purty  nigh 
ev'ry  day,  'cause  I  thought  a  good  deal  o' 
her.  One  afternoon  on  the  way  from  school 
we  met  Josh  Jaquish,  a  big  lunkhead  of  a  fel 
ler,  an'  the  mos'  shiftless  son  of  a  sea  cook 
in  the  whole  State.  He  hollered  out :  '  Hello, 
Nat  !  Ye  courtiu'  whiskers  yit  ? '  Them 
insultin'  words  was  'nough  for  me.  Askin' 
Tillie  to  hold  my  books,  I  run  up  to  the  pesky 
loafer  an'  sailed  into  him.  I  could  give  a 
sledge-hammer  blow  in  them  days.  "Wai',  I 
give  that  Josh  Jaquish  as  hard  a  thrashin'  as 
he  ever  had,  though  he  was  taller  an'  five  or 
six  years  older 'n  me.  It  teached  him  a  les 
son,  though.  But  lickin'  him  didn't  have 
much  'feet  on  others,  'specially  the  gals,  who 
kep'  right  on  a-teasin'  Tillie  'bout  her  whisk 
ers.  An'  even  her  own  folks,  'cept  her  ma, 
made  fun  o'  her  beard  day  arter  day,  till  she 
was  more'n  half  crazy. 

"  She  stood  it  as  long  as  she  could,  an'  then 
176 


TJie  Bearded   Wife 

one  mornin'  she  went  away,  pretendin'  to  her 
folks  she  was  goin'  to  visit  her  cousin,  Sophy 
Gaines,  in  Waco.  She  was  then  'bout  nine 
teen  year  old,  an'  a  full-grown  woman.  They 
didn't  hear  fruin  her  fur  'bout  two  weeks,  an' 
then  her  ma  got  a  letter  posted  frum  Galves- 
ton,  savin'  she  was  goin'  away  in  a  ship  an' 
that  she  might  never  come  home  ag'in.  She'd 
stood  bein'  taunted  an'  jeered  at  long  as  her 
narves'd  'low,  an'  she'd  made  up  her  mind  to 
try  an'  find  some  place  in  the  world  where 
she  could  earn  her  own  livin'.  The  only  per 
son  outside  the  fam'ly  she  asked  to  be  re 
membered  to  was  me.  Her  folks  tuk  on 
tumble  'bout  her  runnin'  away,  an'  her  pa 
said  he  could  understand  now  why  Tillie  had 
asked  fur  one  hundred  dollars  to  go  travelin' 
with.  She'd  never  been  away  frum  hum 
afore,  an'  seein'  as  how  hard  she  coaxed  fur 
it,  an'  realizm'  her  misfortun'  an'  all  together, 
he'd  let  her  have  the  money.  He  was  quite 
a  prosp'rous  storekeeper  in  them  times. 

"  Everybody  felt  the  worst  for  Mrs.  Dillon, 
who  went  out  o'  her  head  fur  a  spell.  She 
done  nothin'  but  walk  the  floor,  an'  wring 
her  hands  an'  cry:  '  I  want  my  Tillie  to 
come  hum!  I  want  my  darlin'  child!'  O' 
course,  I  tuk  Tillie's  disappearance  purty 
177 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

hard.  I'd  ben  pay  in'  her  'tentions  right  along 
as  much  as  she'd  'low,  but  she  was  gettin' 
shyer'n  ever  to'ard  the  last,  an'  it  must  be 
understood  that  she  was  allus  super'or  to  me. 
So  it  run  along  fur  'bout  two  years,  an'  durin' 
that  time  no  one  in  Dallas  had  heerd  a  word 
frum  Tillie.  I  had  gone  to  work  on  a  ranch 
some  fifteen  mile  frum  town,  an'  was  doin' 
purty  wal.  Not  bein'  given  to  lushin'  like 
mos'  o'  the  cowboys,  I  salted  my  wages  in  a 
bank  where  they  would  draw  a  leedle  int'rest. 
Wal,  one  afternoon  when  I  was  callin1  on  the 
Dillons,  \vho  should  come  in  but  Jedge  Crum 
pet,  who'd  lately  ben  on  a  trip  clean  to  St. 
Louis  on  law7  business.  Says  he  to  Mrs.  Dil 
lon,  the  fust  thing  arter  he  got  in  the  house, 
'  My  dear  woman,  I've  some  good  news  fur 
you.  I've  seen  Tillie.' 

"Wal,  ye  should  seen  the  look  o'  joy  on 
that  mother's  face.  An'  then  the  jedge  wrent 
on  to  relate  how  he'd  been  on  a  trip  to  St. 
Louis  an'  how,  bein'  fond  o'  shows  an'  sech 
things,  he  went  into  the  Excelsior  Dime 
Museum  there,  an'  settin'  on  the  platform, 
with  the  other  freaks,  he  reco'nized  Tillie. 
He  walked  right  up  an'  shook  hands  with  her, 
an'  they  had  quite  a  confab.  Tillie  said  she 
was  gettin'  seventy-five  dollars  a  week  in  some 


The  Bearded  Wife 

places,  an'  a  hundred  dollars  in  others,  an' 
everything  was  a-goin'  wal  with  her.  She  in 
quired  'bout  her  folks  an'  ev'rybody  in  Dallas, 
an'  the  jedge  tried  to  git  her  to  come  hum 
with  him,  but  she  said  that  was  out  o'  the 
question." 

ii 

JUST  at  this  point  the  kid  opened  the  door 
softly  and  stole  into  the  room  in  his  bare  feet, 
dressed  in  a  nightgown  much  too  large  for 
him.  His  father  was  seated  with  his  back  to 
the  door  through  which  the  lad  had  come,  and 
was  so  absorbed  in  his  narrative  that  he  had 
not  heard  the  door  open.  The  kid  tiptoed 
up  behind  his  father's  chair  and  squatted  on 
the  floor,  motioning  the  visitors,  with  his 
fingers  perpendicularly  across  his  lips,  not  to 
betray  his  presence. 

"Mrs.  Dillon  thanked  the  jedge,"  con 
tinued  Nat,  "fur  bringin'  the  news,  an'  she 
immegitly  wrote  to  Tillie,  but  got  no  answer. 
Then  her  pa  made  some  show  o'  tryin'  to 
trace  her,  with  the  help  o'  Jedge  Crumpet, 
but  they  couldn't  git  no  track  o'  her  arter  she 
left  St.  Louis. 

"Two  year  arterwards  I  was  hired  to  go 
and  look  arter  a  big  shipment  o'  live  stock  to 


The  BO-JO -Legged  GJio^t 

New  York,  an'  the  night  afore  I  started,  Mrs. 
Dillon  sent  fur  me  to  call  on  her.  She  \vas 
now  a  widder.  Mr.  Dillon  had  failed  an'  was 
so  broken  up  over  his  bad  luck  that  he  tuk 
p'ison,  they  say.  Young  Will  Dillon  had 
went  to  work  an'  so  had  the  youngest  gal, 
Bertha,  to  support  their  ma,  who  was  sick  an' 
mos'  worried  to  death  'bout  Tillie.  When  I 
see  how  poorly  she  was,  I  felt  awful  sorry  fur 
her.  She  says,  '  Oh,  Xat,  when  you  are  in 
New  York,  won't  you  look  all  round  an'  find 
Tillie,  if  you  can,  an'  bring  her  hum?  I'll  go 
to  my  grave  very  soon  if  I  don't  see  her.' 

"  I  promised  to  do  my  very  best  to  find  her 
darter,  an'  it  was  on  my  mind  all  the  way 
goin'  North.  It  only  tuk  two  clays  to  do  my 
business  with  the  cattle-buyers  in  Jersey  City, 
an'  then  I  started  out  on  my  search.  Some 
body  told  me  there  was  a  museum  up  on 
Eighth  Avenue,  near  Twenty-Eighth  Street, 
an'  I  inquired  my  way  there  arter  gettin'  off 
the  ferryboat.  There  wan't  no  one  in  that 
shebang  as  looked  like  Tillie,  an'  so  I  come 
out.  Jes'  then  there  was  one  o'  them  horse 
less  wagons  comin'  along,  an'  havin'  read  a 
good  deal  'bout  'em  I  thought  I'd  try  one. 
Nobody  was  in  this  one  but  the  driver,  an' 
I  hailed  him.  '  Take  me  to  a  good  dime  mu- 
180 


The  Bearded   Wife 

seum,'  I  says,  as  I  stepped  aboard.  Wai,  that 
feller  whirled  me  through  a  lot  o'  cross- 
streets,  an'  arter  awhile  he  stopped  in  front 
o'  a  showy-lookin'  place  which  had  a  big 
red  sign  over  the  doorway  readin',  'Old  Re 
liable  Bowery  Museum.'  I  told  him  to  wait, 
bought  a  ticket  an'  went  inside.  It  was  a 
purty  tough  hole,  an'  Tillie  wasn't  there.  I 
asked  a  feller  that  was  nothin'  but  skin  an' 
bones,  a-settin'  on  the  platform,  if  he  knowed 
Miss  Tillie  Dillon.  'What's  her  specialty?' 
says  he.  'Wai,'  says  I  kindy  sheepish-like, 
'she's  got  whiskers  on  her  face.'  'Oh,'  says 
he,  'I  don't  know  her,  but  I  know  Aha  Ju 
arez,  the  Bearded  Lady. ' 

"Then  I  come  out  an'  told  the  man  to 
take  me  to  another  museum.  He  tuk  me  to 
three  other  jints  on  that  Bowery  Street, 
but  I  seen  nothin'  o'  Tillie.  Then  the  driver 
says,  'I'll  take  ye  up  to  Huber's  on  Four 
teenth  Street;  that's  the  crackerjack  o'  'em 
all.'  So  I  rode  up  there.  No  sooner  was  I 
in  the  big  room  on  the  ground  floor  where 
they  had  the  livin'  cur'osities  'n  I  spied  Til- 
lie —  settin'  next  to  the  fattest  man  I  ever 
see  or  'spect  to  see  agin.  He  was  talkin'  an' 
laughin'  with  her,  an'  she  didn't  look  at  me 
till  I  was  plumb  in  front  of  her.  Jeewili- 
181 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

kins!  but  wan't  she  surprised!  'Why,  Nat 
Veley!  What  b-brings  you  here? '  she  stam 
mered,  as  she  put  out  her  hand  to  shake.  I 
told  her  I'd  brought  a  train-load  o'  cattle 
North  fur  the  owner  o'  the  ranch  I  worked 
on.  She  was  so  startled-like  she  couldn't 
say  nothin'  'tall  fur  a  spell,  but  at  last  she 
said,  '  How's  ma  an'  all  the  folks?'  I  told 
her  her  ma  wan't  very  well,  an'  then  I  says, 
'  When  do  you  git  through  here  to-day  ? ' 
'Not  till  ten  o'clock  to-night,  but  I  have  an 
hour  off  for  supper.  Why  ? '  says  she.  '  Oh,' 
says  I,  '  I  want  to  see  you  as  much  as  I  can 
while  I'm  here.  Can't  you  take  supper  with 
me?'  'I  guess  so,  but  I'll  have  to  ask  the 
manager,'  says  she.  We  talked  a  little  more, 
an'  then  the  baldheaded  professor  begun  lec- 
turin',  an'  she  told  me  to  come  back  at  six 
o'clock. 

"I  went  out  an'  paid  the  driver  an'  dis 
charged  him.  an'  walked  out  to  Union  Square 
an'  sot  down  on  a  bench,  where  I  waited  fur 
nigh  two  mortal  hours  fur  it  to  git  to  be  six 
o'clock.  The  time  dragged  worse  'n  old  Dea 
con  Skudd  when  he  sings  in  church.  I  met 
Tillie,  sharp  on  the  hour,  an'  we  went  to  a 
eatin'  house  that  she  knowed  'bout  clost  by. 
I  didn't  notice  that  ev'rybody  stared  at  her, 
182 


The  Bearded  Wife 

I  was  so  infested  in  talkin'  to  her.  Wai, 
when  we  got  to  eatin,'  I  gently  led  up  to  the 
subject  of  her  pa's  death.  She  didn't  take  it 
so  hyster'cal  as  I  thought  she  would,  but  she 
seemed  a  good  deal  consarned  when  I  told  her 
'bout  her  ma,  an'  how  Will  an'  Bertha  was 
workin'  like  slaves  to  keep  the  wolf  frum  the 
door.  Afore  we  knowed  it,  it  was  time  fur 
her  to  be  back  to  the  museum.  She  told  me 
I  could  come  round  at  ten  o'clock  an'  'scort 
her  to  her  'boardin'  house,  an'  I  did.  She 
invited  me  in,  an'  we  had  a  long  talk  in  the 
parlor.  She  said,  by  way  o'  jokin',  the  Fat 
Man  was  dead  in  love  with  her,  an'  killin' 
jealous  o'  me,  an'  that  I  better  look  out  fur 
him.  Bimeby  I  says,  '  Tillie,  you've  ben  away 
from  hum  goin1  on  five  year.  Your  pa  left 
his  affairs  in  bad  shape,  an'  your  ma  is  gettin' 
old  and  is  failin'  very  fast.  If  you  want  to 
see  her  alive,  you  must  go  hum  with  me. 
Why  don't  ye  give  up  this  business?  It  ain't 
the  kind  o'  life  fur  a  nice,  decent  gal  like  you 
to  live.  You  know  I  allus  thought  the  w7orld 
o'  ye,  an'  do  now,  an'  I  meant  to  ask  ye  to  be 
my  pard'ner,  but  3rou  run  away  afore  I  got  up 
the  courage  to  do  so.  But  I  ask  ye  now.  I'm 
ocean-deep  in  love  with  ye,  'an  I'll  make  ye 
jes'  as  good  a  husband  as  I  know  how.  What 
183 


The  Bo-w- Legged  Ghost 

do  ye  say,  Tillie?  '  Arter  a  long  silence,  she 
says,  '  I'll  give  you  my  answer  to-morrow, 
Nat.  Now  go  away.' 

' '  I  managed  to  get  a  kiss  as  I  said  good 
night,  and  went  to  a  hotel  —  the  Morton 
House  —  not  fur  off.  I  didn't  git  a  chance  to 
have  much  of  a  talk  with  her  till  the  next 
night  arter  the  show  closed.  But  the  answer 
she  give  me  was  wuth  waitin'  fur,  you  bet 
your  bottom  dollar.  She  said  she  had  decided 
to  go  hum  with  me  an'  visit  her  ma.  Wai, 
bo)Ts,  I  jes'  felt  like  flyin'.  The  next  day  was 
Saturday,  an'  we  left  for  Washin'ton  on  the 
midnight  train  Saturday  night,  arter  her 
week's  engagement  was  up.  We  stopped  in 
Washin'ton,  thinkin'  we'd  stay  over  a  couple 
o'  days  to  see  the  sights. 

"  Wai,  the  day  we  was  to  leave  there  I  was 
tuk  sick  an'  had  to  go  to  bed.  I  was  sick  fur 
five  long  tumble  weeks,  an'  Tillie  was  my 
nurse  all  through  it.  The  doctor  said  if  it 
hadn't  been  fur  her  'tendin'  me  I  wouldn't 
a-pulled  through.  But  she  stuck  right  by  me 
night  an'  day,  till  the  crisis  was  passed.  I 
made  big  strides  gettin'  better,  and  when  I 
was  strong  'nough  we  started  on  South. 

"There    was    great    rejoicin',    you    better 
b'lieve,  when  we  got  to  Dallas.     Tillie  hadn't 
184 


The  Bearded   Wife 

ben  hum  three  days  when  her  ma  begun  to 
git  better.  Ye  see,  Tillie  all  this  time  hadn't 
said  she'd  be  my»wife  yit,  but  I  noticed  she 
seemed  a  good  deal  more  tender  to'ard  me 
durin'  an'  arter  my  illness.  So  afore  long  I 
perposed  agin  fair  an'  square,  an'  she  says,  'I 
can't  go  back  on  ye,  Nat.  You've  ben  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had,  next  to  ma.  So  'bout 
a  fortnight  later  there  was  a  weddin'  at  the 
widder  Dillon's,  an'  I  was  the  bridegroom. 
Maybe  the  cowboys  an'  guests  didn't  cut  up 
like  they  was  possessed  that  night. 

"The  next  move  \ve  made  was  to  buy  this 
ranch.  Tillie,  durin'  her  career  under  the 
name  of  Aha  Juarez,  had  cumerlated  over 
$20,000,  while  I  had  saved  'bout  $1,200.  Til- 
lie  bought  the  property,  an'  it's  in  her  name, 
God  bless  her  !  I  put  my  money  in  cattle. 
We  built  this  cabin,  an"  moved  into  it.  Til- 
lie's  ma  lived  with  us  till  she  died  —  a  year  ago. 
Her  last  days  was  peaceful  an'  comfortable, 
an'  I  can  say  that  Tillie  an'  me  is  the  happiest 
couple  in  the  Southwest.  The  kid  —  wal,  as 
you've  seen,  he  takes  arter  his  ma.  That  is 
my  story,  gentlemen." 

Rising  to  his  feet,  the  kid,  who  afterward 
explained  that  he  had  come  to  get  something 
to  put  into  an  aching  tooth,  threw  his  arms 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

round  his  father's  neck,  and  said  very  sol 
emnly:  "I'm  glad  pa  married  ma,  instead  of 
the  Rubber  Skin  Woman  or  the  Snake  Charmer, 
that  ma  tells  about. ' ' 


1 86 


Montressor 

The  Story  of  an  Epidemic,  an  Exploit,  and  an  Epitaph 

I 

railroad  had  been  constructed  across 
the  wide,  cactus-dotted  plain  to  the 
base  of  the  mountains,  when  work  was 
suspended  until  the  officials  could  determine 
whether  it  would  be  best  to  push  up  Redwood 
Valley  and  take  their  chances  of  in  some  way 
getting  over  them,  or  make  an  extended 
northern  route  around  them.  During  this 
pause  the  town  of  Allegan  sprang  up  and 
grew  like  a  mushroom.  A  large  immigration 
poured  in.  Within  four  months  Allegau 
claimed  six  hotels,  double  that  number  of 
boarding  houses,  ten  stores,  two  savings 
banks,  and  fifteen  faro  banks  ;  besides,  in  that 
time,  the  foundations  of  three  church  struc 
tures  had  been  laid. 

At  length  the    railroad  was  extended,   but 
not  up  the  Redwood  Valley,  as  every  one  in 
Allegan  hoped  it  would.     It  was  feared  there 
187 


77ie  BoTV-Legged  Ghost 

might  come  into  existence  a  rival  town  that 
would  encroach  upon  the  interests  of  Allegan, 
should  the  northern  route  be  prosecuted.  But 
the  rival  town  did  not  appear,  though  Allegan 
suffered  a  reaction  such  as  visits  many  frontier 
settlements  prematurely  developed.  A  con 
siderable  number  of  the  population  either  re 
turned  East  or  straggled  up  Redwood  A'alley 
with  agricultural  designs. 

To  compensate,  perhaps,  for  her  lack  of  fer 
tility,  at  just  that  point  where  the  beautiful 
Redwood  Valley  merged  abruptly  into  the 
rugged  Redwood  Canyon,  nature  revealed  a 
treasure  vault  of  gold  in  one  of  the  mountains. 

This  discovery  aided  Allegan  not  a  little  in 
regaining  her  prosperity,  a  Government  assay 
office  and  smelting  works  being  established 
there,  to  which  all  the  ore  from  the  mine  was 
shipped.  Prospectors  probed  in  vain  for  au 
riferous  deposits  above  the  so-called  ' '  Miss 
Alice"  mine;  the  gold  seemed  confined  to 
this  one  peak.  It  is  true,  a  few  meagre  out- 
croppings  appeared  here  and  there,  but  none 
which  would  warrant  labor. 

A  party  of  agriculturists  had  followed  the 

canyon  for  sixty  miles,  until  it  lost  its  incline 

on  a  level,  grassy  summit  of  some  area,  pierced 

by  a  silver-tinted  stream  that  came  out  of  a 

1 88 


Montrcssor 

mountain  ravine  on  the  left,  and,  gurgling 
acro,r:s  the  green  plateau,  retreated  down  a  pre 
cipitous  gulch  at  the  northeastern  extremity. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  before  any  additions 
were  made  to  the  colony,  but  in  due  time  the 
village  of  Observation  Point  was  about  equally 
blessed  and  cursed  with  a  census  of  one  thou 
sand  eight  hundred  souls. 

Of  all  the  institutions  in  Observation  Point, 
the  graded  school  was  the  greatest.  Visitors 
to  the  village  were  always  impressed  with  that 
fact.  How  could  it  have  been  other  than 
great,  under  the  direction  of  Alice  Crofton? 

The  young  lady  just  alluded  to  was  an  or 
phan.  She  had  come  West  with  the  only  liv 
ing  relative  that  she  knew  of  in  the  world  — 
an  uncle,  who  was  superintendent  of  the  mine 
which  had  been  named  in  her  honor.  Alice 
was  twenty-five,  by  no  means  considered  an 
old  maid,  since  the  fairness  of  her  skin  was 
still  enhanced  by  a  girlish  bloom  —  skin  that 
had  not  taken  on  either  the  sallow  pallor  or  the 
rough,  beefy  floridity  which  are  the  inevitable 
extremes  of  a  spinster's  complexion. 

She  was  what  her  early  companions  at  school 

in  Connecticut  called   "smart,"  what  in  this 

section  of   the  West  was  known  as  a  "  good 

un."     Alice  was  well  adapted  for  a  teacher, 

189 


The  13o~v- Legged  Ghost 

possessing  that  faculty  —  not  rare  in  women  — 
by  which  she  was  able  to  disburse  her  knowl 
edge  in  the  most  wholesale,  direct,  and  effec 
tual  manner. 

It  was  during  a  protracted  drought  that 
Observation  Point  fell  a  collective  victim,  so 
to  speak,  to  the  most  violent  attack  of  cholera. 
Alice's  Uncle  Dan  was  paying  her  a  visit  at 
the  time.  All  the  children  became  prostrated 
with  the  appalling  epidemic,  and  the  school 
was  discontinued. 

The  rate  of  mortality  was  something  fright 
ful.  The  driver  of  the  stage  between  Allegan 
and  Observation  Point  was  seized  with  it 
while  en  route  down  the  canyon,  and  died 
before  reaching  his  earthly  destination.  There 
were  only  two  passengers  in  the  stage  that 
day  —  a  Presbyterian  clergyman  and  an  old 
lady,  who  had  been  to  Observation  Point  to 
attend  the  funeral  of  her  son. 

The  clergyman  lifted  the  dead  driver  into 
the  stage,  boosted  the  old  lady  up  on  the  out 
side  seat,  as  she  declined  to  be  any  nearer  the 
corpse  than  possible,  and  drove  on.  After 
that,  stage  drivers  were  more  difficult  to  get 
than  they  had  been. 

Meanwhile,  Alice  Crofton  had  become  a 
nurse.  Early  and  late  she  was  in  the  midst 
190 


Montrcssor 

of  the  sick,  doing  all  in  her  power  to  relieve 
their  sufferings.  At  last,  Uncle  Dan  was 
taken.  He  lingered  with  the  ravaging  disease 
only  two  days,  and  passed  away.  Three  un 
dertakers  had  come  up  from  Allegan  with  cof 
fins,  and  only  one  got  back  alive. 

Strange  it  was  that  Allegan  remained  un 
disturbed  by  this  scourging  visitant,  where  it 
would  have  been  quite  as  naturally  assigned 
by  this  arch  enemy  of  Hygeia,  for  about 
Observation  Point  the  madrofia  scented  breezes 
blew  fresh  from  the  mountains,  and  it  seemed 
the  very  last  place  in  the  world  where  a  con 
tagion  of  this  kind  would  assert  itself.  In 
the  course  of  five  weeks,  the  cemetery  con 
tained  over  one  thousand  six  hundred  new 
mounds. 

During  his  last  —  and  probably  delirious  — 
moments  Uncle  Dan  had  requested  that  all  his 
money  invested  in  the  mine  should  be  released 
by  a  sale  of  his  interest  therein,  and  be  used  in 
the  purchase  of  monuments  for  all  the  dead 
victims  of  the  cholera.  Upon  Alice  did  the 
faithful  performance  of  this  trust  devolve.  She 
went  down  to  the  mine  with  her  uncle's  deed 
and  papers,  and  sold  out  his  claim  to  the  high 
est  bidder  for  $71,000.  She  then  contracted 
with  Mr.  Bates,  a  marble  dealer  in  Allegan, 
191 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

to  furnish  each  grave  in  Observation  Point 
cemetery  with  a  marble  slab.  For  her  Uncle 
Dan  she  selected  a  very  elaborately  carved  and 
costly  column,  upon  which  was  inscribed  this 
original  epitaph  :  — 

" 'Xeath  the  ground  in  a  bier, 
A  gentleman  true 
Sleeps  silently  thro' 
The  long,  weary  year. 
Daniel  Crofton,  died  July   10,  iS — ,  aged  62." 

This  was  placed,  under  her  own  supervision, 
at  the  hallowed  grave  of  her  uncle.  The  other 
stones  varied  in  size  and  shape,  but  with  few 
exceptions,  bore  no  inscriptions,  as  the  graves, 
for  the  most  part,  could  not  be  identified. 
When  this  had  been  accomplished,  Observa 
tion  Point  was  deserted  by  all  save  Alice  and 
one  man,  a  hermit,  who  dwelt  in  a  rvide  cave 
beside  the  stream  that  came  out  of  the  moun 
tain. 

Late  in  the  succeeding  autumn  the  final  slab 
was  planted,  and  Uncle  Dan's  wish  had  been 
fulfilled  at  an  expense  of  $68,000,  the  balance 
of  the  old  man's  estate  being  very  properly 
claimed  by  Alice. 

The  latter  sauntered  through  the  abandoned 
streets  of  Observation  Point  with  a  distressed 
192 


Montressor 

sense  of  the  surrounding  desolation.  She  said 
adieu  to  the  tenantless  houses  in  which  scenes 
of  agony  and  death  had  occurred  —  too  vividly 
impressed  upon  her  mind  ever  to  be  forgotten. 
How  pale  and  worn  she  looked  as  she  wan 
dered  about  on  a  cold  November  day,  pausing 
anon  to  peer  in  through  unhinged  doors  and 
broken  windows,  whence  still  issued  the  naus 
eating  odors  of  the  sick-room. 

She  gazed  longest  and  last  upon  the  school 
building,  wherein  she  had  made  so  many  dear 
friends  among  her  pupils,  nearly  all  of  whom, 
alas !  were  now  dead.  Then  passing  out 
through  the  gates  of  the  cemetery,  she  stepped 
into  a  carriage  and  was  driven  to  Allegan. 

II 

THE  first  man  who  ever  went  up  Boulder 
Canyon,  with  no  intention  of  returning  to 
Boulder  City,  was  Owen  Montressor.  In  fact, 
he  was  the  first  man  who  ever  went  so  far  up 
Boulder  Canyon  with  any  intention  whatever. 
It  was  absolutely  necessary  that  Owen  Mon 
tressor  should  not  linger  in  Boulder  City. 
His  record  there  had  been  investigated  by  a 
vigilance  committee,  pending  his  all  but  fatal 
shooting  of  a  rival  gambler,  and  the  disclos 
ures  were  by  no  means  in  his  favor. 
^  193 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Realizing  the  probabilities  of  capture  if  he 
chose  the  railroad  as  a  means  of  escape,  Owen 
Montressor  galloped  up  the  canyon  one  bleak 
February  night,  on  a  spirited  horse  he  had 
borrowed  for  the  occasion,  without  the  per 
mission  of  its  owner.  He  was  ignorant  as 
to  his  destination,  but  he  pulled  his  heavy 
black  coat  over  his  shoulders,  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  kept  on. 

Once  or  twice  he  looked  back  at  the  distant 
glimmer  of  the  street  lights  in  Boulder  City, 
and  then,  like  the  solitary  brigand  that  he 
was,  resigned  himself  to  his  uncomfortable 
isolation  from  all  human  surroundings,  as  the 
rough,  projecting  rocks  prevented  his  seeing 
more.  Had  he  not  been  hardened  and  fear 
less,  he  would  have  shuddered  in  dread  of  un 
known  chasms  every  time  his  horse  stumbled. 

The  dawn  finally  broke  through  the  heav 
iest  and  grayest  of  skies,  and  Owen  Mon 
tressor  wrore  the  same  expression  born  of  des 
peration.  As  the  day  brightened  a  little,  he 
discerned  one  snow-capped  peak  after  another 
to\vering  above  and  around  him.  The  canyon 
bore  no  evidence  of  a  near  termination  ;  it 
promised  to  lead  him  on  until  he  perished  of 
starvation.  But  at  about  noon  he  reached  a 
level  waste,  and  lo  !  beyond  were  habitations. 
194 


Mo)itrcssor 

A  few  minutes  later  Owen  Montressor 
halted  his  animal  in  front  of  an  oblong  frame 
building,  over  the  battered  door  of  which  a 
weather-worn  sign  bore  the  legend  :  — 

National  Hotel. 
R.  Shanley,  Proprietor. 

' '  lyooks  as  if  Mr.  Shanley  and  his  guests 
are  away,"  said  Montressor  to  himself,  dis 
mounting,  with  the  design  of  making  a  tour 
of  inspection  over  the  premises. 

He  pushed  the  creaking  door  open  and 
stepped  into  what  had  once  been  the  barroom. 
A  torn  and  dirty  circus  poster  still  emblazoned 
the  walls.  A  tin  tank  for  ice  water  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  warped  counter,  having  for 
its  neighbors  a  rusty  cigar-cutter,  an  ink- 
blotched  register,  and  two  or  three  empty  bot 
tles  lying  on  their  sides. 

Scraps  of  paper,  corks,  industriously  chewed 
quids  of  tobacco,  a  spool  of  green  thread,  a 
piece  of  soap,  the  remnants  of  a  soiled  flannel 
shirt,  broken  dishes,  and  other  miscellany, 
were  scattered  over  the  floor  without  any  ap 
parent  effort  toward  harmony  of  effect. 

Montressor' s  investigations  in  other  parts 
of  the  house  were  not  of  a  technical  nature. 
He  was  too  disgusted  to  play  the  role  of  con- 


The  Bow-Legged 

noisseur,  after  the  hope  of  finding  something 
to  relieve  his  hunger  had  been  dispelled  by 
the  sight  of  a  barren  larder. 

Sauntering  out  into  the  air,  he  began 
grooming  his  steaming  horse  with  a  handful 
of  straw,  and,  while  thus  engaged,  perceived 
a  whiff  of  smoke  rising  from  a  chimney  clown 
the  street  a  few7  rods.  He  was  soon  opposite 
the  house  that  indicated  occupancy,  shouting 
loudly  in  a  sort  of  patois  calculated  to  attract 
the  attention  of  any  one  within. 

Presently  there  appeared  at  the  door  a 
middle-aged  man,  with  a  grizzly  beard  which 
grew  all  over  his  face,  except  where  his  little 
watery  blue  eyes,  flat  nose,  and  capacious 
mouth  were.  He  kept  his  hand  on  the  edge 
of  the  door,  at  first  looking  in  blank  amaze 
ment  at  the  apparition  of  Montressor,  and 
then,  by  peculiar  gradations  of  facial  emo 
tion,  contriving  to  grin  suspiciously  at  last. 

"Wai,  'pears  to  me  yer  kindy  quick, 
stranger.  Whar  do  yer  persume  to  come 
frum,  anyhow  ?  ' ' 

"  My  good  man,  on  such  an  empty  stomach 
I  scarcely  feel  able  to  cope  with  my  autobio 
graphy.  I  hail  from  the  dear  old  Quaker 
City.  There  I  was  born  and  educated.  I 
had  once  the  honor  of  being  the  youngest 
196 


Montressor 

bank  cashier  in  Philadelphia;  and,"  continued 
Montressor,  sotto  vocc,  ' '  I  should  have  the 
honor  of  being  the  youngest  one  in  State 
prison  if  they  could  find  me." 

Then  aloud,  "But  I  have  heard  a  great 
man}-  pleasant  tidings  from  the  West,  and  be 
came  impatient  to  see  it;  so  here  I  am.  It's 
a  nice  country  through  here  —  a  little  cold  I 
should  judge. ' ' 

"Thar,  thar,  don't  stan'  out  thar  a-chat- 
terin'  an'  freezin'.  It's  not  me  as  '11  go 
plumb  agin  a  stranger  in  these  parts.  But 
the  beast  —  she's  a  durn  prutty  beast,  ain't 
she?  Jes'  come  right  in  an'  make  yersel'  ter 
hum.  I'll  jine  ye  soon's  I  git  the  mare  in  the 
stable. ' ' 

Montressor  went  inside.  In  the  rear  room, 
off  the  hall,  he  found  a  welcome  fire  in  an 
open  grate.  The  apartment  was  filled  with 
groceries  and  high  rows  of  canned  goods  of  all 
descriptions. 

' '  Been  getting  in  your  winter  supplies,  I 
see,"  remarked  Montressor,  with  much  affa 
bility,  when  his  host  reappeared. 

"  I  reckon  yer  don't  know  much  'bout  Ob 
servation  Point,  do  ye?" 

"  You  are  quite  accurate  in  your  reckoning, 
sir.  This  is  my  first  visit  to  the  town,  and 
197 


TJie  Bo-Jo-Lcggcd  Ghost 

you  are  the  only  citizen  that  I  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting. ' ' 

"  Yer  hain't  likely  to  meet  over  two  citizens 
in  this  place  now;  thum's  me  and  myself. 
He  !  he  !  he  !  The  rest  on  'em  is  snorin'  away 
down  thar  in  the  graveyard." 

The  speaker  busied  himself  opening  a  can 
of  lobsters  and  went  on. 

"Ye  see,  Observation  Point  was  no  slouch 
of  a  place  awhile  ago.  I  used  to  live  in  a 
hole  in  that  mountain  'fore  anybody  thunk 
er  makin'  a  town  here.  Many's  the  time  I've 
run  squar  outen  bar  meat,  an'  hed  to  go 
\vadin'  through  the  drifts  for  any  animal  as 
crossed  my  path.  'Tany  rate,  thet  makes  no 
odds  how  'Already  Joe'  —  thet's  what  the  boys 
used  to  call  me  in  the  mines,  'cause  I  was 
prutty  near  ready  to  have  a  far'  deal  ev'ry 
time  —  but,  as  I  was  savin',  that  makes  no 
odds. 

"  They  got  a  town  here  quicker'n  a  dose  er 
strychnine.  I  jes'  hung  to  my  own  den  an' 
bothered  no  un,  an'  no  un  bothered  me.  I'll 
have  yer  somethin'  ter  eat  in  a  smart  minute, 
stranger.  Wai,  yer  never  seed  a  town  bust  up 
like  Observation  Point,  arter  a  while.  Holy 
Moses  !  didn't  she  galavant  down  grade  like  a 
han'  car  without  any  brake. 
198 


Montrcssor 

"They  got  cholery  here  all-fired  bad,  and 
talk  about  them  morgue  things  in  the  city  !  — 
they  couldn't  tech  a  candle  to  the  stiffs  they 
lied  to  chuck  in  the  groun'  ev'ry  day.  Spades 
were  trumps,  now  I'm  tellin'  ye.  Things 
kep'  gittin'  tarnally  worse,  till  there  wa'n't 
no  one  left  in  the  camp  but  me.  An'  the 
dangest  thing  'bout  it,  there  was  a  gal  what 
teeched  the  edercashun  school  ;  she  was  a 
prutty  gal,  too,  goin'  roun'  givin'  castor  ile 
an'  sech  stuff  to  them  as  was  sickest,  till 
they  turned  up  thar  toes  ;  an'  when  they  all 
got  planted  she  comes  up  from  Allegan  with 
marble  stuns,  an'  puts  one  on  each  grave. 
How's  that  fur  a  gal  ? 

' '  Thar  was  some  good  fodder  them  cholery 
folks  couldn't  take  to  Heaven  with  urn,  an'  it 
was  too  good  to  spile,  so  I  cleaned  out  some 
of  the  stores  an'  housins  er  thar  valuables,  an' 
brought  um  here.  I've  got  it  packed  over 
head  with  dry  goods  an'  truck  'nough  to  las' 
me  all  my  nateral  born  life.  I  don't  mind 
'lowin'  I  struck  it  rich  by  stickin'  to  Observa 
tion  Point." 

Then  Joe   gave  other  details  in  answer  to 

inquiries   of    Montressor,  who   evidently   was 

amused  by  the  rough  host.      He  had  fallen  to 

eating  the  meal  prepared  by  ' '  Already  Joe ' ' 

199 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

before  the  story  of  Observation  Point's  demo 
lition  was  concluded. 

' '  I  suppose  you  collared  a  few  cigars  ? ' ' 
said  Montressor,  pushing  his  chair  away  from 
the  table. 

"  Five  thousand  boxes  or  more  of  um,"  was 
the  reply. 

' '  Already  Joe  ' '  produced  a  choice  brand  of 
Havanas,  and  Handed  the  box  to  his  visitor. 

The  afternoon  was  waning,  but  Montressor 
felt  very  comfortable.  The  brandy  and  soda 
water  were  really  better  than  any  he  had 
tasted  in  Boulder.  \Yithout  any  over-cordial 
invitation  to  do  so,  he  had  resolved  to 
spend  the  night  with  "Already  Joe."  They 
both  became  volubly  interested  in  a  game  of 
poker. 

"By  the  way,"  broke  out  Montressor  sud 
denly,  in  a  tone  slightly  accentuated  by  a 
gleam  of  avariciousness  in  his  eyes,  "don't 
you  suppose  the  people  will  turn  up  some  time 
and  claim  their  property  ? ' ' 

"Thar  ain't  much  danger,  onless  they  git 
tired  er  the  graveyard.  Thum  as  got  away 
alive  is  mighty  glad  ter  stay  away,  I  reckon. 
Ef  they  do  come  back  fur  their  chattels  they 
can  have  all  I  got;  otherwise,  I'll  see  they 
don't  spile." 

200 


Montressor 

' '  About  what  do  you  estimate  the  property 
they  left  worth?"  asked  Montressor  with  a 
business-like  assumption  of  manner. 

"Wai,  now,  stranger,  'twon't  do  to  be  too 
quersitive.  I  don't  keep  other  folks'  'counts, 
as  it's  none  er  my  business." 

Montressor  took  alarm  at  this  blunt  reply, 
and  changed  the  subject. 

' '  Is  there  a  piano  in  the  house  ?  "  he  in 
quired  awhile  afterward. 

"No,  I  have  no  use  fur  sech  foolishness. 
But  thar  is  several  of  um  in  the  town,"  he 
added. 

"  They  were  too  heavy  to  haul  in  a  jiffy,  I 
presume.  Let's  go  and  find  one.  I  used  to 
be  what  a  Boulder  critic  would  term  a  '  fine 
executioner'  on  the  piano." 

"  Already  Joe"  had  no  objection  to  offer  to 
this.  He  lighted  a  lantern,  for  it  was  now 
dark,  and  they  started  out  in  quest  of  an  in 
strument.  After  a  short  walk  the}7  entered  a 
house  whose  interior  bespoke  the  refined  taste 
of  its  former  occupants  ;  but  the  damp,  musty 
atmosphere,  the  rotting  Brussels  carpet,  and 
discolored  lace  curtains,  exposed  to  the 
weather  through  shattered  window's,  told  of 
the  merciless  work  of  Father  Time.  Mon 
tressor  smote  the  tarnished  keys  of  the  piano 

2OI 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

that  stood  in  the  parlor.  They  were  like  ice, 
and  the  responses,  where  they  sounded,  were 
sadly  out  of  tune. 

A  little  provoked,  he  literally  pounded  the 
keyboard,  breaking  three  or  four  keys.  After 
this  he  carefully  sought  the  best  set  of  chords, 
and,  though  the  key  was  pitched  altogether 
too  high  for  his  voice,  he  sang  all  the  songs 
he  could  think  of,  adding  some  instrumental 
improvisations,  until  his  fingers  became  so 
cold  that  he  was  obliged  to  give  it  up. 

Upon  their  return,  "Already  Joe"  brewed 
some  hot  punch,  after  partaking  generously 
of  which  Montressor,  observing  that  his  host 
was  preoccupied,  begged  leave  to  retire  for 
the  sake  of  needed  rest. 

in 

MONTRESSOR  had  said  adieu  early  the  next 
morning,  and  before  ten  o'clock  was  half  way 
to  Allegan.  His  experience  with  "Already 
Joe"  and  the  strange  cemetery  with  its  mar 
bles  all  huddled  together,  that  he  had  passed, 
engaged  his  mind  in  reverie. 

He  reached  Allegan  late  in  the  afternoon 
and  proceeded  to  a  hotel,  where  he  sojourned 
in  a  quiet  and  exclusive  manner  for  nearly  two 
months,  not  deeming  it  prudent  to  appear  in 


Montressor 

public  until  his  doings  in  Boulder  City  had 
ceased  to  be  talked  about. 

At  length  he  began  to  show  himself  on  the 
streets,  and  indulged  his  taste  for  music  at  a 
piano  in  the  public  parlor  of  the  hotel.  He 
represented  himself  as  a  wealthy  lawyer  from 
New  York,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Mon- 
tressor's  reputation  for  culture  was  sufficient  to 
admit  him  into  the  best  social  circles  of  the 
town.  He  was  much  sought  after  by  musical 
people,  because  he  could  sing  and  play,  and 
not  less  did  the  intellectual  patronize  him, 
because  he  could  make  a  clever  after-dinner 
speech. 

At  a  fashionable  evening  reception,  Montres 
sor  first  met  Alice  Crofton.  She  seemed  to 
him  the  embodiment  of  beauty;  he  was  most 
devoted  in  his  attentions  to  her  throughout 
the  evening.  The  next  day  he  visited  her 
at  the  High  School  of  which  she  had  become 
the  principal.  Rumors  soon  associated  their 
names  as  lovers.  That  they  frequently  were 
seen  at  church  and  theatre  together  was  evi 
dence  tending  to  substantiate  the  gossip. 
And  so  their  thriving  intimacy  resulted  in  an 
engagement  the  succeeding  April. 

Meanwhile  Montressor  had  secretly  gambled 
with  success,  and  was  able  to  muster  from  his 
203 


The  Bow -Legged  Ghost 

haunts  a  force  of  men.  not  over-exacting  en 
points  of  honor,  to  aid  him  in  a  scheme  that 
he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  ever  since 
he  reached  Allegan. 

It  was  a  bold  plan — one  that,  perhaps,  no 
man  •  ever  before  had  conceived  or  tried,  for 
lack  of  opportunity,  and  one  that  required  sa 
gacity  of  the  highest  order,  involving,  as  it 
did,  no  end  of  risks. 

One  morning  in  May,  before  daybreak,  four 
heavy  trucks,  carrying  a  dozen  men,  among 
whom  was  Montressor,  in  disguise,  started  up 
the  Redwood  Canyon.  Xo  one  in  the  party, 
had  he  known  Montressor,  would  have  recog 
nized  him  as  he  sat  on  the  forward  truck,  en 
gaged  in  earnest  conversation  with  his  deputy. 
An  iron-gray  wig  and  false  whiskers  of  the 
same  color  had  transformed  him  into  a  vener 
able-looking  man. 

All  day  they  lumbered  up  the  canyon,  kill 
ing  time  in  singing  songs  and  telling  stories, 
reaching  the  Observation  Point  Cemetery  in 
the  night.  Every  one  was  silent  now,  every 
voice  spoke  in  whispers,  every  footfall  was 
cautious,  every  heart  beat  wildly  with  a  sense 
of  adventurous  duty. 

By  the  aid  of  lanterns,  the  men  found  their 
•way  among  the  tombs,  and  formed  a  shiver- 
204 


Montressor 

ing  group  around  the  man  who  was  to  give 
the  instructions. 

He  said  his  purpose  in  coming  here  was  to 
redeem  the  wealth  that  had  been  squandered 
upon  the  monuments,  and  of  which  he,  the 
lawful  heir,  had  been  unjustly  deprived.  He 
dwelt  with  effusive  bitterness  upon  the  fraud 
ulent  charges  which  the  dishonest  marble 
dealer  had  imposed,  denouncing  it  all  as  a  de 
liberate  swindle. 

This  feigned  indignation  on  the  part  of 
Montressor  was  simply  intended  for  effect. 
Five  of  the  listeners  were  boss  marble-cutters 
and  trimmers,  who,  while  in  the  employ  of 
Mr.  Bates,  had  organized  a  strike,  which 
had  procured  their  unconditional  discharge. 
Hence,  in  ignorance  of  Montressor's  design, 
they  had  pledged  their  skilled  services  to  him, 
under  the  gloating  impression  that  by  so 
doing  they  could  cripple  Mr.  Bates' s  interests, 
and  thus  secure  their  coveted  revenge.  They 
were  willing  to  lend  their  assistance  to  this 
mysterious  work,  so  strong  was  their  hatred 
of  Mr.  Bates  ;  besides,  the  remuneration  prom 
ised  was  large  and  tempting. 

Concluding  his  appeal,  Montressor,  known 
among  his  henchmen  as  Gilrain,  turned  to  his 
lieutenant  and  said  in  a  low  tone:  "Set  them 


The  Bovu-Legged  Ghost 

to  work  at  once.  I  will  take  a  couple  of  men 
with  me  and  trap  'Already  Joe,'  so  that  he 
cannot  interfere  with  our  operations. ' ' 

The  men  were  soon  lifting  the  monuments 
from  their  lodgment  in  the  green  turf  and  car 
rying  them  to  the  trucks.  Montressor,  as  we 
will  still  call  him,  led  his  accomplices  to  the 
house  where  "  Already  Joe  "  lived,  and  before 
the  latter  could  comprehend  the  situation,  he 
was  a  bound  and  helpless  captive,  the  victim 
of  all  sorts  of  banter. 

' '  You  wouldn't  let  the  stuff  spile,  eh  ?  "  said 
Montressor,  with  a  tantalizing  sneer.  "  Well, 
Mr.  '  Already  Joe,'  you  can  have  your  three 
meals  a  day,  providing  you  are  respectful  to 
these  two  gentlemen,  who  will  entertain  you 
until  I  decide  what  is  best  to  do  with  you." 

Leaving  a  few  authoritative  instructions  to 
Joe's  guards,  Montressor  returned  to  the  cem 
etery,  where  considerable  progress  had  been 
made. 

In  two  hours  the  trucks  were  loaded,  and  the 
monuments  wyere  hauled  up  to  Shanley's  hotel, 
which  had  been  decided  upon  as  the  place 
wrhere  they  should  be  cut  into  square  blocks. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  four  car 
goes  of  the  cut  marble  left  for  Allegan.     Mon 
tressor  accompanied  the  first  shipment. 
206 


Montressor 

On  the  following  night  Montressor  and  his 
gang  started  up  the  canyon,  meeting  the  laden 
trucks  returning  about  midnight.  Montressor 
smiled  approval  when  informed  that  every 
thing  was  all  right  \\p  at  the  Point.  He 
flattered  himself  that  few  men  could  better 
have  systematized  the  "job." 

Arriving  at  the  cemetery,  he  found  the 
workmen  just  renewing  their  labors  after  a 
short  rest.  He  called  upon  "Already  Joe," 
who  had  become  so  sullen  that  it  was  out  of 
the  question  to  get  him  to  talk.  That  night 
Montressor  returned  to  Allegau  with  the 
trucks.  He  did  not  go  back  to  Observation 
Point  the  next  trip.  Matters  demanding  his 
attention  compelled  him  to  remain  in  Allegan. 

Curious  people  had  already  begun  to  seek 
admittance  into  the  shanty,  and  they  had  been 
refused.  They  must  be  content  with  the  ex 
planation  that  the  mechanics  could  not  be 
disturbed  by  the  presence  of  visitors.  ' '  The 
foundations  of  a  large  and  beautiful  mansion 
are  in  the  course  of  construction  for  Owen 
Montressor,  Esq.,"  was  all  that  one  of  the 
Allegan  dailies  had  announced.  No  one  in 
Boulder  suspected  that  Montressor  was  the 
alias  of  Duval,  by  which  name  he  was  there 
known. 

207 


7^hc  J3 oiv -Legged  Ghost 

Slowly  the  marble  walls  of  the  structure 
went  up,  and  Owen  Montressor  was  by  far  the 
most  prominent  citizen  in  the  place.  So  far 
his  scheme  had  worked  well  through  all  its 
ramifications.  But  he  was  on  the  alert  for 
surprises. 

Montressor 's  trimmers  came  down  from  Al- 
legan  one  Saturday  night  to  spend  the  Sab 
bath,  and  while  under  the  influence  of  liquor 
had  divulged  enough  to  put  the  sheriff  on  the 
trail  of  Mr.  Gilrain.  But  the  clue  was  vague, 
and  Montressor,  hearing  the  matter  publicly 
discussed,  acted  with  subtle  caution.  He  de 
termined  to  get  these  marble-cutters  somehow 
out  of  the  way.  Having  no  more  use  for 
them,  he  made  them  prisoners  and  placed  them 
under  "Already  Joe's"  guards.  It  was  not 
until  after  a  fierce  struggle,  which  required 
the  recruiting  force  of  the  drivers,  that  the 
marble-cutters  surrendered  themselves. 

The  other  part  of  the  undertaking  was  the 
removal  of  all  the  portable  property  which  the 
citizens  of  Observation  Point  had  abandoned 
in  their  flight.  In  one  of  the  banks,  Mon 
tressor  had  found  $20,000  in  specie  and  bank 
notes,  and  in  the  tills  of  most  of  the  stores  he 
had  found  sums  ranging  from  $10  to  $500  ; 
besides,  in  private  houses,  every  one  of  which 
208 


Montressor 

he  thoroughly  ransacked,  he  had  found 
money. 

Load  after  load  of  canned  goods,  dry  goods, 
miscellaneous  merchandise,  furniture,  stoves, 
timber,  etc. ,  etc. ,  came  down  the  Redwood 
Canyon  in  the  darkness.  All  these  things 
were  placed  in  a  warehouse  which  Montressor 
rented.  He  sold  them  at  good  bargains, 
through  agents,  and  thus  obtained  ready 
money  to  pay  his  help  liberally.  It  was 
rumored  finally  that  he  had  purchased  nearly 
all  the  property  in  Observation  Point,  and 
Allegan  people,  who  were  unaware  that  the 
Point  for  months  had  been  completely  de 
serted,  credited  the  story. 

Montressor  circulated  reports  that  the  chol 
era  was  still  raging  violently  up  there,  and 
thus  deterred  the  people  who  had  fled  from 
going  back  to  claim  their  property.  Half  a 
dozen  or  more  men  did  attempt  to  return  to 
Observation  Point,  but  when  within  about 
three  miles  of  the  place  they  were  halted  by 
two  men  in  military  uniform,  who  came  out 
of  a  tent  on  which  the  word  ' '  Quarantine ' ' 
was  painted  in  big,  black  letters,  and  were 
told  they  could  not  go  any  further.  Accept 
ing  these  appearances  in  good  faith,  the  men 
retraced  their  way  to  Allegan. 

14  209 


The  Bo^v- Legged  Ghost 

Of  course,  the  quarantine  was  a  dodge  of 
Montressor  to  keep  away  from  Observation 
Point  all  of  its  former  living  citizens,  espe 
cially  those  who  held  there  extensive  inter 
ests. 

Busy  as  he  was,  Montressor  was  a  frequent 
caller  upon  Alice  Crofton.  He  told  her  he 
was  building  such  a  palace  as  only  his  extraor 
dinary  income  could  make  possible,  a  palace 
in  wrhich  they  would  live  in  conjugal  f elicit}'. 
In  her  innocence  and  faith  she  was  delighted. 

Four  months  elapsed.  Observation  Point 
was  rifled  of  everything  of  value.  The  house 
in  which  "Already  Joe"  and  the  five  marble- 
cutters  were  still  confined  was  the  only  one 
that  had  not  been  robbed  of  doors,  windows, 
and  like  material.  The  truck  "Already  Joe" 
had  mentioned  was  no  longer  there.  The 
marble  edifice  built  of  tombstones  lacked  com 
pletion  only  in  furnishing. 

In  order  that  Alice  might  offer  her  sugges 
tions  as  to  the  interior  decorations,  Montres 
sor  escorted  her  over  to  the  mansion  one  day. 
They  entered  the  building  through  a  side 
wing,  and  passing  through  different  suites  of 
rooms  upstairs  and  down,  came  into  the  main 
hall.  Alice  had  been  dazzled  by  the  magnifi 
cent  proportions  of  the  establishment,  and  was 

210 


Montressor 

musing  over  it,  like  one  in  a  dream,  when  she 
happened  to  glance  at  the  newel  post  support 
ing  the  marble  baluster.  Her  eye,  sweeping 
down  the  graceful  column,  was  arrested  by 
these  lines:  — 

"  'Neath  the  ground  in  a  bier, 
A  gentleman  true 
Sleeps  silently  thro' 
The  long,  weary  year." 

On  the  following  day  she  was  to  have  been 
married.  All  at  once  Montressor  had  in 
sisted  upon  hastening  the  event. 

But  now  she  was  asking  herself  why  her 
uncle's  monument  —  yes,  it  was  his!  Her 
face  grew  wan,  colorless,  and  rigid  with  hor 
ror  ;  she  was  fainting. 

Montressor  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  she 
swooned  backward,  and  with  angry  curses 
carried  her  out  into  the  open  air.  He,  too, 
had  observed  the  tell-tale  epitaph. 

Uncle  Dan's  monument  had  needed  little 
remolding  by  the  trimmers,  so  Montressor' s 
overseer  said.  It  had  been  placed  on  the 
truck,  and  in  the  gloom  the  inscription  had 
not  been  noticed.  Those  who  had  been  em 
ployed  in  the  erection  of  the  house  were  not 
aware  whence  it  came,  and  if  they  had  seen 


The  Bo-jo-Legged  Ghost 

the  epitaph  at  all,  they  had  attributed  it  to 
some  odd  whim  of  Montressor. 

Before  Alice  revived,  Montressor  saw  three 
figures  coming  rapidly  toward  him.  They 
were  the  sheriff,  his  deputy,  and  "Already 
Joe. ' '  Then  the  latter  had  escaped  ?  Yes, 
and  it  was  too  late  for  Montressor  to  attempt 
the  same  thing. 

He  gave  himself  up  with  a  dogged  indiffer 
ence,  so  characteristic  of  the  hardened  crim 
inal.  They  took  him  to  jail,  where  he  would 
await  trial. 

Two  days  before,  "Already  Joe"  had 
twisted  out  of  his  shackles,  while  his  keepers 
were  asleep,  and  set  the  marble-cutters  free. 
They  never  appeared  in  Allegan  again,  nor 
did  the  keepers  —  probably  fearing  the  pun 
ishment  of  the  la\v. 

Montressor  is  serving  a  fifteen  years'  sen 
tence  in  the  penitentiary,  and  his  famous  mar 
ble  palace  has  been  converted  into  an  academy 
for  both  sexes.  Alice  Crofton  is  its  respected 
principal,  and  scouts  matrimony. 


Mrs.  Beveridge's   Adventure 

BALMY  evening  in  early  spring.  The 
full-orbed  moon  hung  like  a  great 
golden  disk  in  the  heavens,  bathing  the 
green  Southern  landscape  in  a  radiant  sheen. 
The  magnolia  and  orange  trees  had  already 
put  forth  their  white  blossoms,  which  exhaled 
a  delicious  fragrance. 

Mrs.  Beveridge  stepped  out  upon  the  wide 
veranda,  extending  round  two  sides  of  the 
fine  old  colonial  mansion,  where  as  a  happy 
bride  she  had  come  ten  years  before.  She 
was  now  alone.  Her  latest  guests,  friends 
from  Memphis,  had  left  for  home  on  the  pre 
ceding  day.  For  almost  the  first  time  since 
her  marriage,  she  was  without  company.  Both 
she  and  her  husband  had  been  fond  of  enter 
taining,  and  their  success  in  the  art  had  been 
unrivaled.  Prostrated  with  grief  for  some 
months  over  the  sudden  death  of  her  husband 
three  years  before,  Mrs.  Beveridge  had  been 
surrounded  during  that  period  by  friends  who 
feared  the  shock  would  leave  her  a  mental 
213 


The  £>oiu-Lcg-ged  Ghost 

wreck  or  a  lifelong  invalid.  Gradually,  how 
ever,  she  was  restored  to  a  semblance  of  her 
former  self,  though  by  no  means  to  the  gay, 
vivacious  woman  she  had  been. 

On  the  evening  referred  to,  her  servants 
had  trooped  off  to  a  country  dance. 

Mrs.  Beveridge  would  have  been  enraptured 
with  the  beauties  of  the  night,  as  her  plump, 
shapely  shoulders  leaned  against  a  pillar  of 
the  veranda,  had  not  a  nameless  dread  pos 
sessed  her.  The  heavy  stillness  was  oppres 
sive.  The  scent  of  the  magnolia  blossoms 
reminded  her  of  the  romantic  period  of  her 
married  life,  and  thoughts  of  her  dead  hus 
band  brought  on  an  attack  of  melancholy. 

Going  into  the  library,  she  picked  up  a 
novel  and  tried  to  read  it.  Page  after  page  she 
mechanically  perused,  without  understand 
ing  a  word.  She  continued  to  read,  now  and 
then  sensing  a  passage,  but  mainly  absorbed 
in  her  own  vaguely  disturbing  reverie. 

At  last,  she  grew  too  nervous  to  persist 
longer  in  the  effort.  Throwing  down  the 
book,  she  passed  into  the  dining-room  and 
lighted  the  candelabra.  Then  she  walked 
briskly  into  the  drawing-room  and  lighted  the 
chandelier  and  piano  lamp.  Seating  herself 
before  the  piano,  she  began  playing  a  Wald- 
214 


J\Irs.  Beveridge1  s  Adventure 

teufel  waltz.  But  the  music  only  served  to 
sadden  her  spirits.  She  placed  on  the  rack  a 
favorite  vocal  composition,  and  sang  it  in  a 
rich  contralto  voice.  The  sentiment  of  the 
song  seemed  to  lift  from  her  soul  a  great 
weight  of  depression,  but  she  was  still  ill  at  ease. 

Time  dragged  on  until  a  few  minutes  after 
midnight,  when  Mrs.  Beveridge  resolved  to  go 
to  her  boudoir,  on  the  floor  above.  Leaving 
the  lights  glowing  in  the  library,  dining- 
room,  front  hall,  and  drawing-room,  she  as 
cended  to  her  sleeping  apartment.  The  suc 
ceeding  hour  she  devoted  to  writing  to  several 
friends. 

Shortly  after  one  o'clock  Mrs.  Beveridge 
stepped  into  bed.  She  courted  sleep  by  some 
of  those  mental  recourses  which  are  said  to 
win  the  presence  of  Morpheus.  But  it  was 
futile.  She  could  not  even  lie  quietly.  Fi 
nally  she  heard  the  hall  clock  strike  two. 
Soon  after,  she  began  to  feel  the  first  symp 
toms  of  sleep.  But  suddenly,  being  nervously 
roused  from  her  drowsiness,  she  dropped  one 
arm  limply  over  the  side  of  the  bed.  Her 
hand  came  in  contact  with  a  shock  of  curly  hair. 

Instinctively  Mrs.  Beveridge  knew  she  had 
touched  the  head  of  a  man  —  a  man  who  had 
been  concealing  himself  under  her  bed.  The 


TJic  Bo-^-Lcggcd  Ghost 

blood  in  her  veins  seemed  to  congeal,  but, 
strangely  enough,  her  senses  did  not  desert 
her.  Stifling  her  first  impulse  to  raise  an  out 
cry,  with  admirable  presence  of  mind  she  gave 
a  very  good  imitation  of  a  person  yawning  in 
sleep,  and  remained  silent. 

After  an  interval  of  a  few  seconds,  she  heard 
a  noise  beneath  her  bed,  and  presently  a  dark 
form  stood  beside  her. 

"  Don't  pretend  you're  asleep,"  said  a  deep, 
gruff  voice,  "  for  I  know  you  ain't.  I've  seen 
that  kind  o'  make-believe  before.  Come,  now, 
I  want  no  nonsense.  You  jes'  git  up  and 
shell  out  your  fine  diamonds  and  all  your 
ready  cash." 

The  villain,  while  thus  speaking,  had 
whipped  out  a  formidable-looking  revolver, 
which  he  held  recklessly  pointed  at  Mrs.  Bev- 
eridge's  head. 

"  I  shan't  do  you  an}-  harm,''  he  went  on, 
"if  you  do  as  I  tell  you  to.  But  set  up  any 
howlin'  or  try  to  play  any  tricks  on  me,  and 
I'll  put  you  to  sleep  for  good,  and  don't  you 
make  any  mistake  about  it. ' ' 

Mrs.  Beveridge  wholly  appreciated  the  situ 
ation.  In  no  steady  accents  she  replied  :  "If 
you  will  step  into  the  hall  while  I  dress,  I  will 
do  as  you  ask." 

216 


J/T.T.  Beveridge1  s  Adventure 

The  burglar  went  into  the  hall  to  wait,  while 
Mrs.  Beveridge  quickly  clad  herself,  managing 
to  hide  in  her  bosom  several  papers  represent 
ing  many  thousands  of  dollars.  At  that  junc 
ture  the  burglar  re-entered  the  apartment. 

"Out  with  your  precious  stones,"  he  ex 
claimed  harshly,  "every  one  you've  got." 

Burning  with  indignation  and  alarm,  yet 
outwardly  composed,  the  widow  produced  a 
magnificent  jewel  case  which  she  promptly 
handed  to  him. 

"They  all  here?"  he  asked.  Then,  looking 
at  her  hands,  he  added:  "Xo<  I  see  some 
pretty  rings  on  your  fingers.  Take  'em  off 
and  fork  'em  over." 

With  great  reluctance  Mrs.  Beveridge 
parted  with  the  treasures  she  removed  from 
her  fingers. 

' '  Surely  you  will  spare  me  this  simple  gold 
band  —  my  wedding  ring?"  she  entreated, 
with  genuine  earnestness. 

' '  Yes,  you  can  keep  that.  But  git  out  your 
cash — greenbacks.  I  haven't  much  time." 

Mrs.  Beveridge  told  him  her  purse  wTas 
down  stairs  in  the  library. 

"Well,  go  and  git  it.  Start  on,  and  I'll  fol 
low.  But  don't  you  try  to  run  away,  if  you 
don't  want  to  git  shot  in  the  back." 


TJic  Bo~jo-Lcgged  Ghost 

A  moment  later  she  surrendered  her  purse, 
containing  nearly  one  hundred  dollars.  But 
he  insisted  that  she  must  have  more  money 
somewhere  in  the  house.  Then  she  handed 
him  a  wallet  taken  from  her  dead  husband's 
writing-table,  in  which  the  burglar  found 
over  seven  hundred  dollars  in  banknotes.  In 
the  same  drawer  he  spied  Mr.  Beveridge's 
watch  and  chain,  which  he  appropriated. 
Then  he  said  he  would  like  to  have  the  best 
of  the  silverware,  and  thereupon  drew  from 
his  capacious  pocket  a  cotton  bag  which,  he 
intimated,  would  hold  all  the  other  valuables 
that  he  could  lug  away  conveniently. 

They  entered  the  dining-room,  and  from  an 
adjoining  closet  the  burglar  soon  selected  as 
much  sterling  ware  as  filled  his  bag  to  over 
flowing. 

"  It  now  lacks  a  quarter  to  three,"  said  he, 
consulting  the  dining-room  clock.  "I  can 
stay  a  little  longer.  Have  you  got  anything 
to  eat?  I'm  hungry  as  an  Indian." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Beveridge,  her  heart 
fluttering  with  a  hope  that  she  could  detain 
the  monster  until  some  of  the  male  servants 
should  return  and  capture  him.  "  There  are 
cold  meats,  preserves,  good  bread  and  butter, 
pickles — ." 

2lS 


JSrs.  Bc-ccridgc1  s  Adventure 

"By  Gorry,"  interrupted  the  burglar,  his 
mouthwatering,  "you're  a  real  nice  woman. 
I'll  try  some  of  your  victuals.  Hustle  ;em 
right  on." 

Lighting  a  small  hand  lamp,  Mrs.  Bever- 
idge  led  the  way  into  the  pantry,  and  began 
to  prepare  a  luncheon  for  her  frowzy  visitor. 
The  burglar  immediately  addressed  himself 
to  the  edibles  with  gusto.  At  every  other 
mouthful  he  complimented  "the  lad}'/'  as 
he  called  her,  upon  the  excellence  of  the 
"grub." 

"  But,"  he  ventured,  "  it  would  go  better  if 
I  had  something  to  wash  it  down.  Now,  you. 
don.'t  mean  to  tell  me  you  ain't  got  some  nice 
old  brandy." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  handsome  widow,  who 
had  been  obliged  to  seat  herself  on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  table.  ' '  But  would  you  not 
prefer  some  wine?  \Ve  have  in  the  cellar  a 
vat  of  pomegranate  which  my  husband  im 
ported  from  Spain.  " 

"  Jes'  what  I  want.  I  never  tasted  any,  as 
I  know,  but  I'll  bet  it's  daisy  stuff." 

Mrs.  Beveridge  picked  up  the  hand  lamp, 
and  saying :  ' '  Bring  that  silver  tankard  on  the 
buffet,"  led  the  way  to  the  cellar.  The  bur 
glar  followed,  having  left  the  bag  of  valuables 
219 


The  Bo~jo-Lcggcd  Ghost 

on  the  dining-room  table.  The  stairs  were 
spiral  in  construction,  and  after  they  reached 
the  cellar  floor  there  were  several  dark  and 
winding  passages  to  traverse  before  coming  to 
the  wine  vats. 

"  Where  the  devil  are  you  leadin'  me,  any 
how?"  queried  the  burglar.  There  was  a 
note  of  suspicion  in  his  tone. 

' '  A  few  more  steps  will  bring  us  to  the 
wine  chamber,"  said  she,  with  no  sign  of  the 
agitation  she  felt.  ' '  Here  is  the  vat  of 
pomegranate. ' ' 

"Yes,  and  it  smells  like  a  big  bouquet  of 
posies,"  said  the  burglar,  as  he  stooped  over 
the  edge  of  the  vat  to  dip  up  a  full  tankard 
of  the  sparkling  vintage. 

Now  was  Mrs.  Beveridge's  moment  !  She 
had  been  waiting  for  it  with  incredible  self- 
possession.  With  all  her  might  she  pushed 
the  cause  of  her  night's  torment  and  alarm 
headforemost  into  the  wine  vat.  The  bur 
glar's  body  and  head  were  completely  sub 
merged,  but  she  did  not  pause  to  watch  his 
struggles.  Blowing  out  the  light,  she  cau 
tiously  but  speedily  made  her  way  through 
the  cellar  and  gained  the  spiral  steps.  Mount 
ing  them  in  panic-stricken  haste,  she  closed 
and  locked  the  door  communicating  with  the 


J\Irs.  Bcvcridge"1  s  Adventure 

kitchen,  and  placed  against  it  several  pieces  of 
furniture  as  an  additional  barricade. 

For  several  minutes  she  had  heard  no  sound 
of  the  man  she  had  so  cleverly  imprisoned. 
Then  she  heard  his  voice  faintly  from  below. 
He  had  managed  to  climb  out  of  the  vat,  and 
was  trying  to  find  his  way  out.  Presently  she 
heard  him  tottering  up  the  stairs,  fairly  roar 
ing  with  rage,  and  uttering  the  most  furious 
expletives. 

Oh,  if  some  of  the  servants  would  only 
come  !  Some  horrible  fascination  prevented 
her  from  running  out  into  the  night  and  call 
ing  for  help.  But  who  would  hear  her  cries, 
save  possibly  the  ears  of  the  wretch's  accom 
plices,  waiting  for  him  outside  ? 

Suddenly  the  burglar  reached  the  landing 
behind  the  cellar  door,  on  which  he  began 
to  thump  and  pound  and  kick  with  all  his 
vigor, —  a  course  he  would  vary  by  begging  to 
be  let  in,  promising  he  would  offer  no  violence 
and  that  he  would  leave  the  house  without 
taking  a  single  article  of  the  plunder  he  had 
gathered  together. 

Mrs.  Beveridge  remained  silent,  thereby 
leading  her  prisoner  to  believe  that  she  had 
fled  from  the  house.  He  continued  to  try  to 
break  the  door  open,  but  the  oaken  panels  re- 


The  2>  OT.V- Legged  Ghost 

fused  to  yield  to  his  fists  and  feet ;  and,  as  he 
had  lost  his  revolver  during  his  struggles  to 
escape  from  drowning  in  the  vat,  he  did 
not  have  that  weapon  to  use  as  a  battering 
ram. 

For  two  hours  Mrs.  Beveridge  remained  in 
the  kitchen  watching  and  praying  for  daylight 
and  assistance.  Worn  out  by  fatigue  and  ex 
citement,  she  finally  lapsed  into  a  faint,  in 
which  state  she  was  discovered  later  by  the 
colored  coachman,  who  was  first  to  return 
from  Aunt  Eunice's  birthday  dance.  By  the 
time  she  was  able  to  tell  what  she  had  experi 
enced,  most  of  the  domestics  had  arrived  and 
now  stood  huddled  about  her  in  quaking  con 
sternation.  The  stableboy  was  dispatched  to 
the  nearest  town  for  the  constable,  who  put  in 
a  prompt  appearance,  accompanied  by  two 
deputies. 

Well  armed,  they  opened  the  cellar  door, 
but  the  burglar  was  no  longer  on  the  landing. 
He  evidently  had  given  up  all  hope  of  escape 
through  that  door,  and  had  returned  to  the 
cellar.  They  had  a  hard  search  before  they 
found  him  —  lurking  in  a  corner  of  the  coal 
bin.  He  fought  desperately  to  resist  arrest, 
but  a  blow  on  the  head  with  a  hickory  club 
brought  him  to  terms. 


J/r5.  Bc'ocridgc 's  Adventure 

At  the  next  term  of  the  county  court, 
"  Jimmy  Hoolan,"  alias  "Max  Smith.,"  was 
tried  and  sentenced  to  a  long  term  of  years. 
The  evidence  brought  out  the  fact  that  he  was 
one  of  the  most  notorious  ' '  crooks ' '  along  the 
lower  Mississippi,  that  he  had  committed  a 
murder  in  New  Orleans,  and  had  served  in 
prison  for  a  robbery. 

When  asked  by  the  judge  what  he  had  to 
say  in  his  own  behalf,  he  remarked,  with  a 
droll  expression  of  countenance:  "Well,  I'll 
say  that  that  air  woman  is  the  bravest  little 
woman  I  ever  did  see.  And  no  one  can  beat 
her  gittin'  up  a  meal  o'  victuals.  I  didn't 
relish  her  pomergrantic  wine  quite  so  well. 
But  I'm  willhv  to  take  the  sentence  of  the 
court  like  a  man,  jes'  because  —  well,  jes'  be 
cause  I  was  outdone  by  a  woman." 


223 


A  Poet's  Passion 

*.Voiv  see  that  noble  and  most  sovereign  reason. 
Like  sweet  bells  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh." 

—  HAMLET.  Act  iii,  sc.  i. 

I 

pf|-HE  old  concierge  introduced  him  to  me 
1^  one  afternoon,  and  invited  me  to  call 
upon  him.  His  talk  and  manners  im 
pressed  me  with  the  idea  that  he  was  an  origi 
nal  character,  and  I  decided  to  patronize  him. 
I  had  taken  rooms  in  this  lively  neighborhood 
of  the  Latin  Quarter  for  a  short  time  in  order 
to  observe  student  types,  and  Jean  Renaud 
interested  me.  I  called  upon  him  two  days 
after  our  first  meeting,  his  rooms  being  one 
flight  of  stairs  below  my  own. 

As  I  entered  his  artistically  decorated  cham 
ber,  he  threw  aside  his  cigar  and  advanced 
towrard  me  with  extended  hand.  He  evidently 
was  in  the  act  of  making  his  toilet,  for  he 
was  only  half  dressed.  I  quickly  apologized 
for  the  inopportunity  of  my  visit,  and  was 
about  to  withdraw,  when  he  seized  me  gently 
by  the  arm  and  conducted  me  to  a  chair,  say 
ing  I  was  welcome  at  any  time. 
224 


A    Pocfs   Passion 

He  informed  me  that  he  was  preparing  to 
call  upon  a  young  lady,  who  lived  "on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,"  but  he  had  plenty  of 
time,  and  I  must  remain  until  he  was  quite 
ready — which  would  take  another  hour. 

I  never  met  a  more  accomplished  man  of 
the  world  than  Jean  Renaud,  but  you  shall 
have  more  of  him  as  my  story  progresses. 
While  he  was  chatting  away  agreeably  on  di 
vers  casual  themes,  my  attention  became  fixed 
upon  the  peculiar  figures  on  his  shirt,  his  coat 
and  vest  being  off.  Observing  that  I  was  gaz 
ing  at  them,  he  came  closer  to  me  and  said : 
' '  I  see  you  are  interested  in  my  shirt ;  odd, 
isn't  it?" 

I  remarked,  with  no  little  wonder,  that  it 
was  ;  for  I  saw  verses  in  different  colors, 
stamped  all  over  the  bosom  and  sleeves. 

"I  am  a  poet,  you  know,"  he  continued, 
' '  and  I  have  published  some  of  my  best  wrork 
in  this  way.  It's  very  convenient  to  have  a 
verse  of  your  own  3-011  cannot  recall,  printed 
on  your  cuffs  in  artistic  form.  You  see,  this 
ordinarily  passes  for  a  figured  cambric  shirt— 
until  I  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  isn't!" 

I  felt  a  droll  impulse  to  laugh  outright, 
which  I  did.  Jean  Renaud  seemed  offended 
at  my  laughter,  and  I  promptly  subdued  it. 


The  BO~JC- Legged  Ghost 

"  Read  this  poem  and  then  laugh,"  he  said, 
standing  close  beside  me  and  pointing  to  a 
poem  entitled  "Andromeda,"  in  the  centre  of 
his  bosom.  The  lines  were  by  no  means 
wanting  in  poetic  fire.  I  complimented  him 
on  his  genius,  and  soon  he  seemed  to  forget 
the  offense  created  by  my  laughter.  He  lei 
surely  donned  his  collar,  which  was  covered 
with  verses,  and  then  buttoned  on  his  cuffs, 
also  verse-dotted,  talking  meanwhile  of  his 
many  creations,  for,  according  to  his  own  ad 
missions,  he  was  a  prolific  bard. 

The  hour  which  he  had  intimated  was  to  be 
the  limit  of  my  stay  was  up  before  I  knew 
it  —  so  entertaining  had  been  Jean  Renaud. 
But  he  had'not  become  so  absorbed  in  what  he 
was  saying  as  to  be  unaware  of  the  exact  time. 

"  Now  I  must  be  going,"  he  said  with  the 
utmost  civility.  "You  will  excuse  me  under 
the  circumstances,  I  am  certain.  Monsieur 
Glenwood,  you  must  call  on  me  often.  \Ve 
shall  be  the  best  of  friends,  ri est-ce-pas?  ' 

"I  see  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't,"  I 
answered  laconically,  and  so  we  parted  —  he 
to  make  his  call  and  I  to  take  a  stroll  through 
the  Jardin  du  Luxembourg. 

Jean  Renaud  and  I  became  fast  friends. 
We  were  opposites  in  temperament,  though 
226 


A    Poet's   Passion 

many  of  our  tastes  were  identical.  In  the  ex 
change  of  confidences  that  passed  between  us, 
I  learned  that  he  had  some  genuine  patrician 
blood  in  his  veins  from  the  maternal  stock. 
His  family  estate,  located  near  Melun,  yielded 
him  an  annuity  of  sixty  thousand  francs,  and, 
having  no  one  dependent  on  him,  his  temporal 
condition  entailed  upon  him  no  anxiety. 

Jean  was  an  orphan.  His  only  sister,  An 
toinette,  shortly  after  the  death  of  the  father, 
had  married  a  French  colonel,  now  stationed 
at  Algiers.  She  had  received  by  her  father's 
will — the  mother  being  dead  —  the  bulk  of 
the  personal  property,  while  Jean  had  in 
herited  the  paternal  estate,  which  was  an 
equable  division. 

Since  the  death  of  his  father,  who  had  made 
his  fortune  on  the  Paris  Bourse,  Jean  had  been 
living  a  gay  existence,  but  he  had  always 
lived  well  within  his  income ;  riches  had  not 
turned  his  head.  He  was  now  thirty-two, 
tall,  slender,  with  a  bronzed  complexion,  due 
to  the  climate  of  Algiers,  where  he  had  lived, 
as  his  sister's  guest,  for  eighteen  months.  For 
the  rest,  his  black  eyes  and  wavy  black  hair, 
and  the  contour  of  his  rather  angular  face, 
readily  proclaimed  him  a  Frenchman.  His 
figure  was  elegant,  both  as  to  form  and  car- 
227 


The  BO-JO -Legged  Ghost 

riage,  save  when,  in  his  intense  poetic  moods, 
he  affected  the  careless,  slouching  movements 
of  a  Bohemian.  His  face  was  scarcely  at 
tractive,  except  in  moments  when  argumen 
tative  excitement  brought  a  sparkle  into  his 
eyes  and  a  flush  into  his  usually  pale 
cheeks. 

There  was  a  peculiar  charm  in  his  smile, 
which  disclosed  his  evenly  shaped,  white 
teeth.  He  was  a  fluent  linguist,  speaking 
English  with  barely  a  sonp^on  of  accent. 

Certainly,  Jean  Renaud  was  eccentric  ;  but 
to  me  he  was  not  obtrusively  so.  A  strong 
individuality  characterized  everything  he  did. 
He  acted  largely  on  impulse  ;  but,  neverthe 
less,  if  occasion  called  for  it,  he  was  ready 
with  some  reason  or  justification  of  his  con 
duct.  He  was  as  many-sided  and  emotional 
as  a  woman,  and  quite  as  obstinate  at  times. 

Of  a  Saturday  night  he  would  drag  me  to 
the  Xouveau  Cirque,  on  the  Rue  St.  Honore, 
or  to  a  Cafe  Chantant,  —  perhaps  the  Alcazar, 
in  the  Faubo^t,rg  Poissonniere, —  and  afterwards 
to  a  restaurant  for  a  bird  and  a  bottle.  Then 
on  the  morrow  he  might  be  filled  with  that 
morbid  piety  which  some  people  display  on 
Sabbath  days.  He  would  declare  it  to  be  our 
duty  to  attend  earl}'  mass  in  Xotre  Dame,  or, 
228 


A    Poet's   Passion 

as  he  sometimes  urged,  in  the  temple  of  the 
common  people,  Saint  Sulpice. 

After  service  he  would  pack  me  off  in  a 
voiturc  to  the  cemetery  of  Montmartre,  where 
he  would  point  out  the  graves  and  tombs  of 
distinguished  poets,  musicians,  and  painters, 
often  uttering  a  mournful  monologue  con 
cerning  each  defunct  celebrity.  Then  in  all 
probability  on  the  way  home  he  would  visit 
the  Morgue,  to  see  what  assassinated,  drowned, 
or  killed  persons  were  exposed  to  curious  pub 
lic  view.  Returning  to  his  apartments,  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  my  leaving  him,  unless, 
perchance,  he  was  seized  with  divine  afflatus, 
which  seldom  happened  on  Sundays ;  and, 
being  interested  in  this  man,  who  with  all 
his  caprices  was  a  magnificent  companion,  I 
had  little  or  no  wish  to  wander  off  by  myself. 

Sometimes  after  sundown  on  holy  days, 
Jean's  peculiar  piety  would  relax  suddenly, 
and  frivolities  galore  suggested  themselves  to 
the  apostate.  His  favorite  recreation  was  to 
pilot  me  into  a  haunt  on  the  Rue  Voltaire,  not 
far  from  our  lodgings,  much  frequented  by 
students  and  Bohemians.  It  was  called  the 
Cafe  Gambetta,  because  that  flamboyant  and 
somewhat  misdirected  genius  had  once  hon 
ored  the  establishment  with  his  presence  for 
229 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

an  entire  evening.  None  but  men  of  sup 
posed  tremendous  intellect  and  professional 
promise  were  allowed  in  the  place,  though  the 
only  effective  passport  to  the  inner  circle  was 
seedy  raiment  and  a  duly  manifested  bravado 
of  egotism.  Consequently,  Jean  was  careful  to 
see  that  for  these  occasions  I  was  befittingly 
arrayed  in  one  of  his  cast-off,  threadbare  suits 
which  he  had  spared  for  the  purpose.  His 
own  attire  was  in  that  state  of  shabby  uncer 
tainty  where  a  friendly  tussle,  even  in  his  own 
physical  favor,  would  have  almost  denuded 
him.  Everything  we  wore,  barring  our  re 
spective  underwear,  was  old  and  tattered, 
not  to  say  greasy.  But  we  were  always  re 
ceived  by  that  nonconventional  coterie  with 
acclaim. 

At  that  period  my  shock  of  long,  blonde 
hair,  tinged  with  gray  threads,  gave  me  —  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  say  it — a  literary  air. 
As  for  Jean  Renaud  —  they  all  knew  him. 
How  many  times  had  his  aggressive  powers  of 
discussion  and  expedience  of  suggestion  con 
vinced  the  Bohemians  of  his  indispensability 
in  their  midst  —  where  money,  even  with  Jean 
and  myself,  seemed  so  unknown  a  quantity! 
How  eager  were  the  thirty  or  more  eyes  to 
note  any  intention  of  liberality  on  the  part  of 
230 


A    Poet's   Passion 

some  one  still  possessed  of  a  few  francs  !  Or 
with  what  dependent  interest  did  they  listen 
to  some  bold  spirit  who  was  openly  threaten 
ing  ' '  to  hang  up  the  establishment ' '  for  the 
next  round  of  vin  ordinaire. 

Jean  always  directed  me  to  distribute  an 
even  two  francs  in  centimes  through  my  vari 
ous  pockets,  which  request  he  implicitly  com 
plied  with  himself.  Ergo  we  could  plead  to 
being  "hard  up"  as  well  as  the  next  man, 
who  probably  really  was.  No  one  in  this 
highly  confidential,  though  somewhat  hilar 
ious  circle,  knew  Jean  as  a  man  of  desperate 
alternatives  to  obtain  a  breakfast  or  a  dinner, 
though  one  man  present  had  seen  him  once  in 
his  dress  suit,  but  having  accosted  him  had 
gone  up  the  avenue  satisfied  that  Jean  Renaud 
was  not  Jean  Renaud,  but  another  —  a  double 
—in  short,  the  Prince  Motilla  of  Spain.  .  .  . 
Jean  had  always  been  secretive  concerning 
the  young  lady  whom  he  went  so  often  to  see 
across  the  river,  but  one  day  he  volunteered 
to  confess  his  fears  that  his  suit — for  his  in 
tentions  were  serious  —  was  not  progressing  so 
favorably  as  he  would  have  it. 

"You  see,"  he  declared,  "she  is  bent  upon 
becoming    an    artist.       I    never   saw    such    a 
unique   woman,    Glen  wood.      I    will   make  a 
231 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

clean  breast  of  it.  She  is  a  countrywoman 
of  yours. ' ' 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes.     She  hails  from  Chicago." 

I  gave  a  start.  Chicago  is  my  birthplace. 
Some  all  too  tender  memories  to  me  hover 
about  that  much-maligned  city. 

"Let  me  try  to  describe  Adele  Hargrift," 
continued  Jean;  but  I  interrupted  him  with  an 
exclamation  of  consternation  that  some  people 
would  have  considered  blasphemous. 

Adele  Hargrift  ! 

Why  should  he  try  to  describe  her  to 
me  ?  I  knew  her.  Five  long  years  before 
she  had  been  my  betrothed.  Yes,  five  long 
years.  She  was  a  petted  darling  of  society 
then  —  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  railroad 
magnate.  I  was  a  poor  civil  engineer,  with 
only  alleged  prospects  of  a  brilliant  career 
ahead.  In  spite  of  my  self-acknowledged 
poverty,  Adele  had  given  me  her  hand.  But 
alack  !  we  had  a  simple  lovers'  quarrel  which 
a  single  word  of  concession  on  the  part  of 
either  would  have  patched  up.  But  pride 
made  us  both  stubborn,  and  we  became  es 
tranged. 

Soon  afterwards  I  went  to  Mexico  to  do 
some  surveying  for  that  government.  At 
232 


A    Poet' '  s    Passion 

the  end  of  a  year  my  services  were  no 
longer  required.  As  I  had  no  other  more 
definite  aim  at  the  time,  I  cast  my  fortunes 
with  a  bright  but  adventurous  young  fellow 
by  the  name  of  Tobias  Shirley,  who  was  daft 
on  discovering  something  in  the  way  of  a  rich 
mineral  deposit  in  the  northern  mountains. 
Tobias  was  a  Yale  man.  He  had  tried  his 
speculative  mettle  and  small  paternal  legacy 
in  Wall  Street  —  to  the  total  dissolution  of  the 
legacy.  Since  then  he  had  drifted  and  kicked 
about  the  world  up  to  the  time  when  I  met 
him  in  the  City  of  Mexico.  Being  nearly  of 
an  age,  and  discovering  that  we  possessed  tastes 
in  common,  we  naturally  agreed  to  like  each 
other;  for  it  is  ever  so  lonesome  in  the  City  of 
Mexico  without  a  friend  —  a  friend,  I  mean, 
who  does  not  employ  you  or  whom  you  do  not 
employ.  However,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
Tobias  had  several  traits  that  one  could  not 
help  liking,  and  this  being  the  case,  one  could 
not  help  liking  Tobias. 

\Ve  set  forth  on  our  journey  on  the  fifteenth 
day  of  May.  Five  weeks  afterwards  we  made 
a  discovery,  that  is  to  say,  with  all  becoming 
modesty,  I  did.  We  were  in  the  deep  de 
clivity  of  a  giant  peak,  or,  in  other  words,  in 
the  crater  of  an  exhausted  volcano.  After 


The  Bo~ju-Legged  Ghost 

making  an  extended  examination,  I  was  ready 
to  make  a  thousand  affidavits  that  the  un 
canny  looking  walls  of  the  used-up  volcano 
inclosed  a  deep  quarry  of  precious  onyx. 
When  I  so  informed  Tobias,  who,  in  truth, 
was  anything  but  a  geologist  of  even  the  most 
primitive  kind  (though,  of  course,  he  must 
have  answered  more  or  less  correctly  some 
questions  at  Yale,  pertinent  to  the  "  Story  of 
the  Rocks,")  he  fairly  leaped  with  jubila 
tion.  We  went  back  to  the  City  of  Mexico 
in  hot  haste,  organized  a  company,  and  four 
months  later  the  "Excelsior  Onyx  Mines" 
were  in  operation.  There  was  compara 
tively  little  trouble  in  introducing  our  onyx 
on  the  market,  for  it  was  of  a  superior 
quality.  In  three  years  I  was  a  millionaire, 
and  sold  out  my  interest  in  the  mines  to 
Tobias,  who  wanted  to  make  two  millions  — 
or  more. 

Returning  to  Chicago,  one  of  the  first 
things  told  me  was  that  Adele  Hargrift's 
father  had  failed  in  business,  and  that  she 
herself  had  gone  abroad  on  a  limited  stipend, 
furnished  by  a  maternal  uncle,  to  study  art. 
I  still  loved  Adele  Hargrift,  and,  after  learn 
ing  of  the  misfortunes  of  her  family,  I  experi 
enced  a  great  longing  to  see  her  again.  A 
234 


A    Poet' 's   Passion 

year  later  I  had  come  to  Paris,  where  I  knew 
she  was  sojourning,  but  as  yet  I  had  made 
no  special  effort  to  find  her.  So  my  emotion 
may  be  realized  when  Jean  Renaud  mentioned 
her  name. 

"  What  on  earth  ails  you?  "  asked  Jean,  in 
ad  version  to  my  exclamation. 

"Only  a  twinge  of  sciatica,"  I  explained, 
with  a  farcical  attempt  to  imitate  a  sudden 
victim  of  that  dread  ailment. 

"Too  bad,"  said  my  companion.  "  L,et 
me  call  the  doctor." 

"No,  thank  you,  the  pain  will  vanish  in  a 
moment.' ' 

Jean  resumed.  His  description  of  Adele 
Hargrift  did  not  make  her  out  a  day  older 
than  when  I  had  said  a  cold  adieu  to  her  five 
years  before.  Jean's  eloquent  eulogy  of  my 
whilom  fiancee  set  my  blood  boiling.  It  was 
all  I  could  do  not  furiously  to  demand  her 
present  address,  that  I  might  fly  to  her  and 
call  her  my  own.  Yes,  my  own  ;  for  she  could 
never  become  the  wife  of  Jean  Renaud,  ac 
cording  to  my  heart's  jealous  prophecy.  How 
almost  abnormally  cool  and  collected  some 
men  can  appear,  when  the  vital  currents  of 
their  being  are  surging  in  wild  excitement. 
Such  was  my  exterior  calm  at  that  instant, 
235 


The  Bo-^u-Lccd  Ghost 


that  I  said  to  Jean  Renaud,  with  ever}-  sign  of 
a  mad  devil's  friendliness:  — 

"Jean,  I  should  like  to  meet  your  fair  divin 
ity.  Where  does  she  live?  " 

"55,  Avenue  Marceau,"  said  Jean,  unsus 
piciously.  "You  shall  come  with  me  to 
morrow  to  see  her.  But  you  must  keep 
your  eyes  open,  and  tell  me  afterwards  if  you 
think  I  have  a  shred  of  hope  to  cling  to.  '  ' 

ii 

FROM  that  moment  Jean  Renaud  ceased  to 
interest  me  in  the  way  he  had  previously 
done.  I  came  to  look  upon  him  as  an  inter 
loper  —  a  poacher  on  my  preserves.  But  three 
days  later,  as  though  we  were  still  the  bosom 
friends  we  had  been,  Jean  and  I  went  to 
call  on  Adele  Hargrift. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  instant  she  saw 
and  recognized  me.  She  came  as  near  faint 
ing  away  as  any  woman  ever  did  or  could, 
and  I  stood  like  a  confused  schoolboy  able 
to  offer  neither  relief  nor  sympathy.  Jean 
suggested  cold  water  on  her  forehead  and 
a  glass  of  Cognac,  and  rang  for  a  servant. 
The  remedies  Jean  had  proposed  seemed  of 
avail,  for  Adele  soon  broke  away  from  the 
thraldom  of  her  faint,  which  she  explained 
236 


A    Poefs    Passion 

was  due  to  exacting  work  in  the  atelier  of 
her  teacher  during  the  morning,  without  a 
scrap  of  food. 

' '  You  should  not  work  without  eating,  Miss 
Hargrift,"  I  managed  to  philosophize,  being 
conscious  as  I  uttered  the  words  that  I  could 
not  remember  the  time  before  when  I  had 
been  constrained  to  call  her  Miss  Hargrift. 

At  my  remark  she  pulled  herself  together, 
and,  with  a  little  air  of  her  own,  said:  "  As  a 
rule,  I  obey  the  calls  of  the  inner  man,  or,  I 
suppose  I  should  say  in  my  case,  the  inner 
woman.  To-day,  Monsieur  Durget  had  a  par 
ticularly  interesting  figure  for  me  to  copy 
in  oil,  and  probably  I  lingered  over  it  too 
long  for  my  physical  good." 

"My  friend,  Glenwood,  is  not  only  from 
your  country,"  said  Jean  Renaud,  "but  from 
your  own  city  —  Chicago." 

"  How  strange  1  "  said  Adele  Hargrift,  her 
radiant  smile  giving  the  lie  to  her  fluttering 
eyelids.  Then  she  added:  "But  the  world  is 
not  so  large  after  all." 

' '  Perhaps  you  knew  each  other  when  you 
were  little,"  suggested  Jean,  "  before  the  city 
of  Chicago  grew  to  be  so  enormous. ' ' 

"Perhaps,"  caught  up  Adele  in  a  quick, 
combative  way,  "but  should  you  think  it 


The  Bow-Lcgged  Ghost 

probable?     You  have  never  been  in  America, 
you  know,  Monsieur  Renaud." 

"Quite  true,  Mademoiselle,"  responded 
Jean,  thoughtfully.  "It  was  only  a  little 
fancy,  nothing  more.  Excuse  my  haste  in 
showing  it  to  you,  but  my  latest  poem  is  done 
in  English."  With  these  words  Jean  Renaud 
produced  his  silk  hat,  which  he  went  for  in 
the  vestibule,  and  handed  it,  top  downwards, 
to  Adele.  The  latter  looked  into  it  for  a  mo 
ment,  and,  motioning  me  to  look  also,  I  stepped 
behind  her,  and,  with  her  permission,  peered 
over  her  shoulder,  while  in  a  clear,  unwaver 
ing  voice,  she  read  the  following  lines,  stamped 
in  the  silk  hat:  — 

A   PROMISE 

COULD  I  speak  thro'  the  lips  of  the  rose, 

Sweet  things  I'd  disclose, 

Quite  as  rare  as  its  leaves  ere  they  fold 

Up  the  wings  of  their  fragrance  untold. 

Sweet  things  I'd  disclose, 

Could  I  speak  thro'  the  lips  of  the  rose. 

Perhaps  from  my  dust  will  arise 
A  rose  that  is  lovely  and  fair  ; 
Oh,  spirit  of  mine,  guard  the  prize, 
And  think  of  my  fanciful  pray'r. 


A    Poet' 's    Passion 

If  then  thou  canst  utter  a  word, 
Speak  loud  that  my  voice  may  be  heard, 
For  I  shall  such  sweet  things  disclose 
As  I  speak  thro'  the  lips  of  the  rose. 

Adele  complimented  the  lines,  but  not  pro 
fusely.  My  presence  was  evidently  discon 
certing  her,  though  I  endeavored  to  be  nothing 
more  than  politely  casual  in  my  demeanor  and 
words.  Presently,  unable  to  witness  her  dis 
comfiture  longer,  I  proposed  going  to  Jean, 
who  assented. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her?"  asked  my 
companion,  as  we  were  riding  homeward 
through  the  Champs  Elysees. 

"She  seems  very  agreeable.  Her  charms 
are  many/'  I  commented  in  a  half-abstracted 
manner. 

"She  knows  I  am  in  love  with  her/'  con 
tinued  Jean,  "but  I  cannot  perceive  that  my 
affection  is  reciprocated." 

It  was  far  from  my  liking  to  discuss  the 
subject,  though  it  seemed  to  be  Jean's  greatest 
wish  to  prolong  it.  I  treated  his  raptures  with 
a  civil  silence. 

On  the  following  day  I  left  Jean  on  the  pre 
tense  of  having  business  to  transact  with 
my  bankers  in  the  Rue  Scribe.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  I  instructed  the  cochcr  to  drive 

-'39 


The  Bo~&- Legged  Ghost 

me  directly  to  55,  Avenue  Marceau.  Adele 
Hargrift  received  me.  Neither  of  us  could 
dissemble  in  the  least — now  that  Jean  Renaud 
was  not  with  us.  How  uncalled  for  and  fool 
ish  seemed  our  lovers'  quarrel  as  we  reverted 
to  it!  Time  had  made  charitable  her  memory 
of  me  as  it  had  my  memory  of  her.  Our  souls 
were  drawn  together  by  those  indescribable 
ties  of  love  which  had  never  really  been  sev 
ered. 

I  again  offered  her  my  name,  with  it  this 
time  a  fortune.  She  blanched  as  with  dread, 
lest  I  was  mocking  her.  Disabused  of  this, 
she  urged  that  she  could  not  give  me  an 
answer  at  once.  She  also  acknowledged  the 
plight  of  being  adored  by  Jean  Renaud,  in 
whom  she  felt  an  interest,  but  no  love.  I  as 
sured  her  that  I  would  tell  Jean  all  about  our 
previous  relations  and  inform  him  that  in 
the  future  he  would  be  pursuing  a  forlorn 
hope  if  he  insisted  in  paying  her  any  more 
attentions. 

That  very  night  I  revealed  the  situation  of 
affairs  to  Jean,  trying  not  to  be  cruel  in  my 
candor  ;  but  my  words  cut  deep  into  the  poor 
fellow's  heart.  Without  a  word  he  rose  and 
left  the  room.  As  he  opened  the  door  I  saw 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

240 


A    Poet's    Passion 

Three  hours  of  careful  deliberation  decided 
me  in  leaving  my  apartments  on  the  following 
morning  for  good,  and  to  that  end  I  packed 
up  my  personal  effects  and  belongings  before 
retiring.  The  next  day  I  went  to  the  Hotel 
Binda,  where  I  had  previously  sojourned, 
after  inditing  a  note  to  Jean  and  leaving  it 
with  the  old  concierge  to  deliver  to  him.  In 
it  I  affirmed  my  innocence  of  any  intention  to 
wrong  him,  or  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  win 
ning  Adele's  hand.  But  he  must  now  per 
ceive  how  futile  was  such  an  ambition  on  his 
part.  The  note  contained  little  else  in  addi 
tion,  save  a  few  friendly  words  of  farewell. 

A  week  later,  Adele  Hargrift  and  I  were 
privately  married  in  the  American  Presbyte 
rian  Chapel  in  the  Rue  de  Berry. 

Our  honeymoon  was  spent  at  Nice,  and  sub 
sequently  we  lived  for  several  months  in 
Vienna.  Finally  we  made  an  extended  trip 
through  Norway  and  Sweden,  Adele  mean 
time  adding  some  delightful  etchings  to  her 
portfolio.  We  passed  the  following  winter  on 
the  Isle  of  Jersey. 

Adele  and  I  had  been  man  and  wife  just 
two  years  when  we  found  ourselves  once  more 
in  Paris,  for  a  brief  stay  before  sailing  for 
America. 

16  241 


The  Bo~jo-Leggcd  Ghost 

At  the  very  moment  of  our  arrival  in  the 
Gare  du  Xord,  I  experienced  a  sickening  de 
pression  of  spirits  —  so  closely  and  so  uncom 
fortably  were  my  thoughts  of  Paris  and  Jean 
Renaud  associated.  I  wondered  what  had 
become  of  him.  By  mutual  consent,  his  name, 
since  our  marriage,  had  never  crossed  our  lips. 
I  now  shuddered  in  fear,  which  alas  !  was  in 
reality  a  true  presentiment,  as  the  fiacre 
bowled  along  through  familiar  streets  and 
boulevards  toward  the  hotel,  lest  I  should  see 
his  apparition  —  a  wasted,  gaunt,  pathetic, 
but  still  breathing  caricature  of  his  former 
self. 

On  the  second  day  after  reaching  ' '  the  gay 
city,"  I  found  some  excuse  to  absent  myself 
for  a  few  hours,  though  it  wras  difficult  to  mis 
lead  Adele's  intuitions.  I  was  convinced,  as 
I  left  her,  that  she  had  divined  my  object;  but 
she  did  not  seem  at  all  unwilling  to  let  me  go. 
Half  an  hour  later  I  was  grasping  the  hand  of 
the  old  concierge  in  the  Rue  Fontenelle.  He 
was  unmistakably  glad  to  see  me.  He  re 
membered  that  I  never  had  handed  him  a  nig 
gardly  pourboire.  And  Jean  Renaud:  What 
about  him  ? 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  the  honest  An- 
doche,  with  a  terrible  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
242 


A    Poefs    Passion 

followed  by  a  significant  touch  of  his  forehead 
with  his  finger,  and  a  few  rapid  shakes  of  his 
head;  "he  has  gone  completely  to  pieces! 
Yes,  Monsieur  Jean  is  done  for  —  mentally. 
Soon  after  you  went  away,  Monsieur,  —  two 
years  ago  that  is  now, — he  began  going  to  the 
bad.  Such  carousings  as  he  had  in  his  room 
you  never  heard  of.  Oh,  but  didn't  his  money 
fly  !  There  was  no  one  to  restrain  him,  you 
know,  but  myself.  However,  I  did  not  have 
much  time  for  that  sort  of  \vork,  as  Monsieur 
must  know.  It  is  all  that  one  poor  man,  with 
asthma  like  myself,  can  do  to  look  after  Mon 
sieur  Bernard's  buildings,  without  giving  the 
tenants  points  as  to  how  they  should  manage 
themselves.  Well,  Monsieur  Jean  grew  worse 
and  worse.  He  ordered  case  after  case  of  ex 
pensive  wines,  but  only  his  old  confreres  and 
the  grisettes  consumed  it.  Monsieur  Jean 
would  only  take  absinthe,  but  he  did  take  that 
without  limit,  and  you  know  how  that  corrodes 
a  young  man's  stomach  and  poisons  his  brains. 
For  an  old  man  like  me,  a  little  absinthe  now 
and  then  warms  up  the  cockles  of  his  heart 
and  reminds  him  of  a  good  anecdote  of  his 
boyhood,  but  it  is  no  beverage  for  a  young 
man,  and  I  told  Jean  so  more  than  once.  But 
he  would  only  say:  '  Mind  your  own  concerns, 
243 


The  BoTJO-Legged  Ghost 

good  Andoche,  and  leave  your  superiors  alone. 
Order  me  another  case  of  the  fluid  you 
would  have  reserved  for  your  own  selfish 
pleasure,  you  sly,  old  wretch  ! '  That  is  the 
way  he  would  go  on  when  I  tried  to  reprove 
him." 

"  But  what  has  become  of  Jean?''  I  inter 
rupted. 

' '  He  stayed  in  this  house  up  to  about  a  year 
ago,"  responded  the  old  man  in  his  wheezy 
voice.  ' '  Then  creditors  began  to  come 
around  and  bother  him.  I  myself  had  been 
unable  to  collect  three  months'  rent  from  him 
that  was  due  to  Monsieur  Bernard.  Jean  had 
been  gambling  right  along  to  his  own  disad 
vantage,  for  the  absinthe  destroyed  his  wits. 
They  say  he  raised  money  on  his  family  estate 
to  pay  off  debts  of  honor.  Being  a  gentle 
man,  Jean  paid  those,  no  matter  how  much  he 
o\ved  the  wine  seller,  the  restaurateur,  and  the 
landlord.  Then  he  fell  sick,  and  was  in  bed 
for  a  month.  I  myself  paid  his  doctor's  bill, 
and  took  a  painting  and  a  trunk  containing 
fancy  underwear  for  security.  When  he  wras 
able  to  get  up  he  looked  the  picture  of  despair. 
One  morning  he  hobbled  down  stairs  and 
came  into  my  quarters.  My  wife  made  him  a 
cup  of  coffee,  which  he  said  tasted  better  than 
244 


A    Poet's    Passion 

anything  he  had  ever  swallowed.  '  I  am 
going  now,'  he  said;  'and,  Andoche,  if  you 
ever  want  to  see  me  again,  you  will  find  me 
in  the  fir  forest  near  Melun,  that  once  belonged 
to  my  father  —  and  afterwards  to  me.  You 
dear  old  rascal,  don't  use  absinthe  in  any  form. ' 
Then  he  tottered  out  and  he  has  never  been 
here  since.  This  is  all,  Monsieur  Glenwood, 
I  can  tell  you,  except  that  the  other  day  the 
Figaro  stated  that  the  new  gamekeeper  of  the 
old  Renaud  estate  has  made  a  singular  dis 
covery.  While  in  the  deepest  part  of  the 
forest  that  covers  the  southern  portion  of  the 
manor,  he  saw  on  many  of  the  trees  verses 
cut  in  the  bark,  with  only  the  initials  under 
neath —  J.  R.  That  is  all  I  know,  Mon 
sieur  Glenwood.  My  wife  just  says  my 
humble  luncheon  is  ready.  Will  you  not 
partake  ?  ' ' 

Thanking  him  for  his  invitation,  I  returned 
to  my  hotel  and  asked  Adele  if  she  would  not 
like  to  make  a  visit  on  the  morrow  to  the 
famous  old  town  of  Melun.  The  question 
piqued  her  curiosity,  but  she  did  not  ask 
the  wherefore  of  the  trip  —  only  saying  she 
would  be  pleased  to  take  it. 

At  noon  on  the  following  day  we  stood  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  dark  green  forest.  To 
245 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

the  northward  stretched  the  well-kept  estate, 
with  its  trim  greenhouses  and  horticultural 
gardens,  of  the  late  M.  Renaud.  We  were  on 
the  verge  of  a  dense  shadow  of  thickly  grow 
ing  firs,  pines,  and  other  less  kindred  trees. 
An  impulse,  as  strong  as  the  passion  for  ab 
sinthe  to  Jean  Renaud,  tempted  me  into  those 
mysterious  shades.  I  led  my  wife  guardedly 
thence,  yet  with  a  firmness  that  my  Adele  at 
that  time  could  not  account  for,  but  tolerated 
in  wifely  faith.  We  had  proceeded  perhaps 
three  hundred  yards  when  we  were  suddenly 
confronted  with  a  dark  sluggish  canal,  sug 
gesting  the  outlines,  if  not  the  character 
otherwise,  of  a  feudal  moat.  Our  progress 
was  arrested,  and  Adele,  surrendering  to  her 
latent  superstitions,  for  the  first  time  mani 
fested  so  far  as  I  knew  her,  suggested,  with 
all  signs  of  earnestness,  a  retreat  to  a  less 
ghoulish  environment.  I  was  about  to  yield 
to  her  proposition,  when  my  eyes  beheld,  dart 
ing  from  a  fantastically  gnarled  oak,  a  figure 
clad  meagrely  in  the  skins  of  animals  that  I 
did  not  at  the  time  know  abounded  in  that 
forest.  But  his  face  —  wild  with  the  inroads 
of  dissipation  and  disease  —  white  as  the  chalk 
cliffs  of  Dover  —  could  I  fail  to  recognize  it? 
At  the  same  moment  he  recognized  us  both. 
246 


A    Poet's   Passion 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  him.  His 
sudden  appearance  turned  my  blood  to 
ice,  my  heart  to  stone.  Fortunately,  Adele 
was  looking  northward  toward  the  open 
country. 

I  stood  aghast.  He  riveted  his  sunken  eyes 
full  upon  me,  with  never  a  glance  at  the 
woman  beside  me.  Then  he  smiled,  threw  up 
his  bare  arms,  the  motion  of  his  body  making 
his  long  whitened  hair  to  flow  in  weird  fash 
ion  over  his  unclad  shoulders.  Uttering  the 
most  inhuman  and  unearthly  scream  that  man 
ever  uttered,  he  fled  behind  the  great  oak 
whose  roots  rambled  along  the  exterior  of  the 
ground,  instead  of  developing  normally  in 
mother  earth,  —  seeming  a  malicious  octopus 
intent  on  spreading  its  tentacles  merely  for 
human  destruction.  The  sound  of  Jean 
Renaud's  shriek  nearly  tumbled  my  wife  over 
with  alarm. 

"A  screech  owl,"  I  temporized  instantly. 
' '  The  station  master  told  me  these  horrid 
birds  throng  the  forest,"  I  added,  to  soothe 
her  ;  and  very  soon  she  believed  the  sound 
might  have  proceeded  only  from  the  monster 
suggested. 

Having  seen  Jean  Renaud,  I  did  not  care  to 
go  a  step  further  in  that  grewsome  wrood  —  not 


The  Bo~jo-Lcgged  Ghost 

even  had  there  been  no  black  ditch  to  impede 
my  onward  way.  I  now  shared  Adele's  wish 
to  get  back  into  the  open  country.  That 
madman's  face  which  my  wife  happily  had 
not  seen  !  And  yet,  had  I  been  able  to  stretch 
my  hand  across  the  old  moat  and  to  have  said 
to  Jean  :  ' '  Come  back  to  Paris  and  be  a 
poet.  We  shall  appreciate  you  better  this 
time."  Ah,  how  could  I  do  that?  And  how 
could  Jean?  My  wife  stood  there  shivering. 
Jean  had  appeared  in  the  negligee  of  a  mad 
man  hermit.  Why  should  I  not  extricate  Adele 
at  once  from  this  wretched  labyrinth  ?  With  all 
sorts  of  desolate  misgivings,  I  tried  to  guide 
Adele  out  of  that  hideously  suggestive  forest. 
But  oh,  how  hopelessly  we  staggered  through 
the  underbrush  ;  how  often  we  found  it  neces 
sary  to  penetrate  tangled  briars  ;  how  slow,  in 
deed,  was  our  progress.  The  wonder  was  how 
we  had  ever  proceeded  so  far  into  this  sunless 
wood.  En  route  I  stumbled  up  against  a 
solitary  beech  tree,  half  dead  with  the  desire 
of  getting  my  Adele  out  of  the  jungle,  when 
I  spied,  cut  in  the  trunk,  evidently  with  a 
jackknife,  a  couplet  which,  rendered  into 
English  words,  would  read  as  follows  :  — 

' '  I  put  my  fullest  trust 
In  things  that  crawl  in  dust." — J.  R. 

248 


A    Poet'  's   fassion 

Fortunately  for  us,  the  beech  tree  stood 
near  the  outskirts  of  the  forest.  Soon  after 
wards,  Adele  and  I  emerged  from  that  nocu 
ous  gloom  into  the  pearly  radiance  of  a  French 
landscape. 

Some  six  years  later,  after  I  had  settled 
down  as  an  architect  in  Chicago,  I  wrote  to 
the  Mayor  of  Melun  regarding  Jean  Renaud. 
The  Mayor's  answer  was  brief  and  to  the 
point.  It  read  thus  :  — 


N,  April  —  ,  18  —  . 
MR.  JOSEPH  GLENWOOD. 

My  Dear  Sir:  —  Yours  received.  Two  years  ago, 
the  skeleton  of  a  human  body  was  found  in  the  hol 
low  trunk  of  an  aged  oak  tree  in  the  forest  of  Melun, 
otherwise  still  called  Banker  Renaud's  estate,  though 
it  now  belongs  to  M.  Sorel.  Only  one  thing  identi 
fied  the  remains,  and  that  was  the  picture  of  Jean 
Renaud  himself  in  a  gold-chased  locket  suspended 
round  the  neck.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  locket 
was  a  bit  of  paper  folded  up  into  a  square.  On  it  was 
written  in  the  chirograph  y  of  Jean  Renaud  —  whose 
name  was  signed  underneath  them  —  these  words  : 
"  I  am  the  man  who  would  love  forever  the  American 
girl  named  Adele  Hargrift,  but  a  demon  fate  forbids 
it.  In  consequence,  absinthe  and  madness  are  my  por 
tion.  Adele  will  never  know  my  passion.  Glen- 
wood,  as  the  victor  over  my  heart's  choice,  will  prob 
ably  be  unrelenting  in  his  strictures  of  me.  Only  the 
world,  and  after  that,  God  himself  shall  judge." 

24.9 


The  Bo-uo-Legged  Ghost 

Adele,  who  never  knew  I  wrote  the  Mayor 
of  Melun,  has  never  seen  his  reply  to  me,  nor 
have  I  ever  told  her  what  he  wrote.  I  tore 
the  letter  into  fragments,  and  threw  them 
into  the  waste  basket. 


25'- 


The   Story  of    Four  Carrier   Pigeons 


H  HOUGH  living  at  some  distance  from  the 
city,  I  was  sufficiently  in  touch  with 
urban  life  to  be  spared  the  appellation 
of  a  rustic.  Yet  I  was  called  an  eccentric  man, 
because,  being  something  of  an  experimental 
ist,  I  seldom  did  things  like  my  neighbors. 
They  regarded  me  as  a  harmless  zealot,  and 
in  the  community  I  was  characterized  as 
' '  better  than  fools  average. ' '  But  I  never 
minded  the  opinions  of  my  fellow-citizens  re 
specting  myself.  Year  after  year  I  went  on 
experimenting  with  my  beehives,  my  grape 
vines,  my  fruit  trees,  and  my  crops. 

To  be  entirely  frank,  my  knowledge  of  the 
L,atin  poet,  Horace,  my  subscriptions  to  three 
agricultural  papers,  and  my  own  untiring  de 
votion  to  the  more  scientific  methods  of  farm 
ing  did  not  assist  me  financially.  While  not 
aspiring  to  reap  a  fortune  in  agriculture,  I 
dared  to  hope  for  a  moderate  monetary  success 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

from  the  application  of  approved  modern 
methods  to  agricultural  affairs.  But  they  did 
not  appear  to  succeed.  At  the  end  of  each 
year  I  found  myself  somewhat  poorer  than  I 
had  been  at  the  beginning.  Despite  my  in 
dustry,  my  acres  did  not  thrive.  While  I  was 
deep  in  the  study  of  ensilage  and  other  equally 
interesting  matters,  my  produce  garden  be 
came  choked  with  weeds  and  nettles,  and 
while  I  was  eradicating  them  by  hand  (  a  la 
borious  process  requiring  a  fortnight's  steady 
toil)  my  little  dairy  of  six  cows  died,  one  by 
one,  of  an  epidemic  which  other  sufferers  like 
myself  called  by  a  great  variety  of  names. 

So  matters  went  from  bad  to  worse,  and 
finally,  being  cramped  for  a  little  ready  money, 
my  small  balance  in  the  First  National  Bank 
of  Centerville — the  nearest  town  —  having 
been  gradually  withdrawn,  I  began  to  ponder 
how  I  could  raise  the  necessary  amount  with 
out  borrowing  or  mortgaging  my  farm.  At 
last  I  decided  to  sell  my  four  carrier  pigeons, 
which  some  three  years  before  had  been  pre 
sented  to  me  by  a  friend  who  had  procured 
them  in  Italy. 

He  assured  me  that  originally  they  had  be 
longed  to  a  Neapolitan  count,  who,  while  im 
prisoned  for  a  crime,  had  used  them  as  mes- 


The   Story  of  four  Carrier  Pigeons 

sengers  between  himself  and  his  lady-love. 
The  Count,  it  is  said,  did  little  else  during  his 
incarceration  but  indite  burning  epistles  to  the 
fair  senorita  and  dispatch  them  to  her  by 
these  pigeons,  which  were  kept  flying  from 
the  prison  to  his  sweetheart's  villa  and  back, 
by  day  and  night.  The  senorita,  of  course, 
responded  to  each  impassioned  vow  of  her 
captive  lover,  and  to  each  of  her  perfumed 
notes  was  attached  a  scarlet  ribbon,  which 
was  tied  to  the  tail  feathers  of  the  faithful 
carrier. 

Neapolitans  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  prison  used  to  stand  in  the  street  for 
hours  watching  the  pigeons  set  forth  from 
and  return  through  the  narrow  second-story 
window  of  the  cell  occupied  by  the  Count. 
This  was  one  of  the  interesting  sights  in 
Naples  at  that  period.  Finally,  the  Count 
died  suddenly  while  in  the  act  of  addressing 
one  of  his  most  ardent  declarations  to  the 
senorita,  and  his  property,  including  the 
pigeons,  was  publicly  sold  to  redeem  his 
debts. 

What  became  of  the  fair  senorita  I  have 

never  heard.     Perhaps  she  languished    away 

in  a  convent.      My  friend  happened  to  be  in 

Naples  at  the  time  of  the  sale  of  the  Count 

253 


The  Bow -Legged  Ghost 

Gracedo's  effects,  and  he  bought  the  pigeons 
at  a  rather  extravagant  price.  But  each  one 
was,  indeed,  a  rara  avis. 

As  I  have  said,  he  presented  them  to  me  — 
in  remembrance  of  our  close  friendship  formed 
while  at  college.  On  account  of  the  romantic 
story  he  related  concerning  them,  I  always  had 
dearly  prized  them  since  becoming  their  pos 
sessor.  And  now,  though  I  needed  money,  I 
keenly  disliked  the  idea  of  parting  with  them. 
In  my  bachelor  loneliness  they  had  been  ex 
cellent  companions.  Throughout  my  forty- 
five  years'  existence  I  never  have  been  es 
pecially  fond  of  domestic  pets,  but  these 
pigeons  won  my  tender  affections  from  the 
start,  and  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  considered 
vain  if  I  hint  that  my  feelings  were  charm 
ingly  reciprocated  by  them.  They  lived  as 
much  indoors  as  out.  They  followed  me  to 
the  fields  and  indulged  in  their  own  instinct 
ive  pastimes  when  I  was  too  busy  to  pay  them 
attention,  but  they  were  never  far  away  from 
me.  At  night  when  I  went  to  my  chamber  to 
read,  or  into  my  adjoining  home-made  labora 
tory  to  fuss,  the\"  accompanied  me,  and,  light 
ing  on  my  shoulder,  would  coo  and  pose  in 
the  most  piquantly  affectionate  manner.  I 
called  them  respectively  "Josephine,"  after  a 
254 


The   Story  of  Four  Carrier  Pigeons 

young  lady  for  whom  I  once  entertained  a 
sentimental  but  futile  regard,  "Moses,"  after 
a  favorite  deceased  uncle,  "  Penelope,"  after  a 
married  sister,  and  "  Ralph,"  after  my  friend 
who  gave  me  the  pigeons. 

After  they  thoroughly  knew  me,  I  tested 
their  training  by  taking  them  one  day  into  a 
hillside  forest  about  four  miles  distant  from 
my  home,  and  leaving  them  in  charge  of  my 
farm  boy,  who  accompanied  me,  with  instruc 
tions  to  free  them  in  about  an  hour.  I  has 
tened  back  to  my  house,  which  I  reached 
before  the  hour  was  up,  and  getting  my  briar- 
wood  pipe  and  tobacco  pouch,  seated  myself 
on  the  veranda  to  await  the  coming  of  my 
treasures.  Soon,  however,  doubt  began  to 
prey  upon  my  thoughts.  Would  they  ever 
return  ?  I  eagerly  consulted  my  watch.  The 
hour  would  be  up  in  three  minutes.  Those 
three  minutes,  how  full  they  were  of  sus 
pense  !  —  but  I  will  not  pause  to  detail  my 
misgivings.  Eight  minutes  later  I  descried 
four  birds  flying  directly  toward  me.  Yes, 
they  were  my  pigeons.  I  believe  I  never  ex 
tended  a  more  genuine  welcome  to  any  human 
being  than  I  did  to  them  as  they  landed  on 
my  outstretched  arms.  Nor  were  their  greet 
ings,  in  their  dumb  way,  less  cordial.  But  it 
255 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

is  enough  to  say  that  I  liked  my  pigeons  and 
that  they  liked  me. 

II 

I  DID  not  need  the  money  for  myself,  because 
my  habits  of  life  were  very  simple  and  inex 
pensive  at  that  time.  True,  in  my  college 
days  and  afterward,  while  I  mingled  with  the 
world,  I  spent  money  freely — too  freely,  in 
fact,  for  a  man  whose  legacy  had  been  but 
$20,000.  But,  fortunately  for  me,  at  about 
the  time  I  had  nearly  run  through  my  inher 
itance  I  began  to  thirst  for  scientific  knowl 
edge.  I  purchased  a  farm  of  nearly  two 
hundred  acres  and  a  considerable  number  of 
books,  and  in  this  way  settled  down.  I  enter 
tained  a  vague  notion  that  I  could  become  an 
accomplished  scientist  and  a  practical  farmer 
at  the  same  time. 

I  desired  money  to  give  my  younger  brother, 
a  worthy  aspirant  for  legal  honors,  who  wras 
suffering  from  what  is  commonly  known  as 
cataract  of  the  eyes.  This  trouble  had  be 
come  so  serious  as  to  require  him  to  consult 
an  oculist,  who  had  urged  him  to  submit 
to  an  operation  at  once.  Jack  wrote  me 
the  circumstances  and  appealed  to  me  for 
money  to  pay  for  the  operation.  "  My  whole 
2*6 


The   Story  of  Four  Carrier  Pigeons 

career,"  he  wrote,  "depends  upon  this  opera 
tion,  which  Dr.  Powell  assures  me  he  can  suc 
cessfully  perform.  What  could  I  do  in  the 
law,  or  anything  else,  without  my  eyesight? 
I  dislike  to  call  upon  you  for  funds,  but  I 
know  of  no  one  else  to  apply  to.  It  would  be 
a  pity  and  a  shame,  now  that  I  am  admitted 
to  the  Bar  and  stand  a  fair  show  of  working 
up  a  practice  here  in  New  York,  to  have 
everything  go  by  the  board.  Dear  brother, 
help  me  if  you  possibly  can.  The  operation 
will  cost  only  $100.  With  that  sum  I  think  I 
can  manage  it,  as  I  have  a  little  laid  away  to 
meet  my  board,  laundry  bills,  etc.  I  cannot 
see  to  write  this  —  so  my  friend,  Lawrence 
Shipley,  is  kindly  acting  as  my  amanuensis." 
Is  it  necessary  to  observe  that  this  letter 
touched  my  heart  ?  I  had  not  heard  from  Jack 
before  for  nearly  three  months.  He  was  a 
pushing,  independent,  clever  fellow,  and  I 
never  had  had  an}-  occasion  to  wrorry  about 
him,  except  in  regard  to  his  poor  eyesight. 
But  previous  to  the  receipt  of  this  letter  I  had 
not  known  how  bad  it  was  getting.  Of  course 
I  resolved  to  provide  Jack  with  the  money. 
But  how  ?  The  passing  out  of  my  hands  of 
my  entire  farm  I  should  not  have  allowed  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  furnishing  him  with  assist - 
17  257 


The  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

ance  in  his  exigency.  But  being  a  man  of 
middle  age  and  not  as  practical  as  the  law  will 
allow  a  man  to  be,  and  also  sensitive  as  to  my 
shortcomings  in  the  latter  respect,  I  really 
hated  to  give  up  my  farm. 

After  much  reflection  I  hit  upon  the  expe 
dient  of  disposing  of  my  cherished  pigeons. 
The  very  afternoon  I  received  Jack's  letter,  I 
worded  an  advertisement  to  insert  in  the  Cen- 
terville  Weekly  Farmer  and  Rural  Companion, 
and,  placing  it  in  an  envelope,  with  a  note  to 
the  editor  requesting  him  to  send  his  bill  for 
the  same,  gave  it  to  Jim  Bloodgood,  a  stage- 
driver,  to  deliver,  as  his  rocking  vehicle  rattled 
along  the  dusty  turnpike  in  front  of  my  house 
at  about  sunset.  The  notice  ran  as  follows: 

"Gordon  Hildreth,  Esq.,  of  Weaver  Valley,  offers 
for  sale  four  beautiful  carrier  pigeons,  with  a  history. 
For  terms  inquire  of  the  owner. ' ' 

On  the  following  Saturday  morning  I  was 
sitting  on  my  veranda  after  having  eaten  a 
frugal  breakfast,  prepared  as  usual  by  my 
housekeeper,  Priscilla  Dudley,  when  a  lively 
team  and  buckboard,  whose  approach  from  the 
direction  of  Centerville,  ever  since  it  appeared 
in  sight  over  the  knoll  of  the  South  Hill,  I 
had  been  watching,  turned  into  the  lane  lead- 
258 


Story  of  four  Carrier  Pigeons 

ing  up  to  my  modest  domicile.  This  unusual 
circumstance  at  once  directed  my  attention  to 
the  sole  occupant  of  the  conveyance,  whose 
form  and  features  were  now  plainly  visible. 
He  was  a  trifle  stoop-shouldered,  wore  a  drab- 
colored  slouch  hat,  and  an  outer  coat  of  the 
same  hue,  and,  though  it  wras  July,  thick 
buckskin  gloves.  A  nearly  exhausted  and 
poorly-lighted  cigar  rested  in  one  side  of  his 
rather  capacious  and  sensuous-looking  mouth. 
He  did  not  glance  at  me  or  at  my  house  during 
the  time  he  was  driving  up  the  lane,  which 
covered  a  distance  of  two  hundred  yards  from 
the  turnpike.  Even  when  he  stopped  opposite 
my  threshold,  his  gaze  was  reflectively  inclined 
downward.  He  climbed  clumsily  out  of  the 
buckboard,  for  he  was  a  heavy  man,  put  his 
whip  in  its  iron  socket,  and  curled  the  reins 
carefully  around  the  whip.  Then,  after  pat 
ting  the  flank  of  the  nigh  horse  and  testing 
the  security  of  the  nearest  front  wheel  of  the 
buckboard,  he  turned  sedately,  and,  looking 
unconcernedly  at  me,  said  :  "  Mr.  Hildreth,  I 
believe  ? ' ' 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir,"  I  replied  ami 
ably. 

"I  noticed  in  this  week's  Rural  Compan 
ion  that  you  have  some  carrier  pigeons  to 
259 


The  Bo~ju-Legged  Ghost 

sell.  My  name  is  George  Pullen.  I  thought 
I'd  come  up  and  look  at  '  em." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said.  "  Come  up  and  take 
a  chair  and  I  will  call  the  pigeons. ' ' 

He  slowly  ascended  the  steps  of  the  veranda 
without  speaking.  I  knew  my  visitor  by 
reputation  as  a  bird  fancier  and  dealer,  and  I 
reflected  with  a  joyful  thrill  that  he  would  not 
have  been  likely  to  drive  all  the  way  from 
Centerville,  nineteen  miles,  just  to  see  my 
pigeons.  A  peculiar  whistle  which  I  made 
brought  the  four  birds  at  once.  As  usual 
they  lighted  on  my  arm. 

"  They  look  like  the  genuine  article,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Pullen,  after  gazing  at  them  for 
several  moments,  during  which  I  had  briefly 
narrated  their  history  to  him.  He  showed  no 
disposition  to  higgle.  He  offered  me  $  100 
for  the  four  pigeons,  and  after  a  reproachful 
moment  I  accepted  the  offer.  My  pets  were 
placed  in  a  wooden  cage  which  Mr.  Pullen 
had  brought  with  him  under  the  seat  of  his 
buckboard.  As  he  was  about  leaving  he  ad 
mitted  that  he  had  heard  of  my  pigeons  from 
different  parties,  and  that  he  had  been  desir 
ous  of  gaining  possession  of  them.  After  Mr. 
Pullen  went  away  I  felt  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  myself  for  having  surrendered  my  beautiful 
260 


The   Story  of  Four  Carrier  Pigeons 

birds  to  a  stranger  who  desired  them  only  for 
a  speculative  object.  But  when  I  thought  of 
poor  Jack  and  the  help  the  $100  would  be  to 
him,  my  self-reproach,  so  to  speak,  evapor 
ated.  That  day  I  forwarded  the  money  to  my 
brother,  and  in  my  letter  fraternally  expressed 
the  earnest  wish  that  the  proposed  operation 
would  prove  successful. 

Ill 

ABOUT  four  days  after  I  had  disposed  of  my 
pigeons,  I  received  a  startling  message  from 
my  sister  and  her  husband,  who  resided  in 
a  flourishing  Pennsylvania  town,  where  the 
latter  was  engaged  in  a  manufacturing  busi 
ness.  The  dullness  of  the  previous  season 
and  the  reverses  of  the  firm  had  resulted  in  an 
assignment.  Horace,  my  brother-in-law,  wrote 
me  the  particulars  of  the  failure  and  entreated 
me  to  come  to  his  rescue  with  a  loan.  To  this 
appeal  my  sister  Penelope  added  a  pitiful  sup 
plication  for  financial  relief,  making  a  strong 
point  by  referring  to  her  two  children,  who, 
she  said,  would  soon  be  in  want  of  a  crust  of 
bread  to  keep  their  little  bodies  and  souls 
together,  if  I  did  not  heed  this  petition. 
That  part  of  the  letter  written  by  Horace  was 
couched  in  less  doleful  words,  and  displayed 
261 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

a  more  practical  view  of  their  situation.  He 
thought  $3,000  would  set  him  on  his  feet, 
though  that  amount  did  not  cover  all  his  lia 
bilities.  But  he  hoped  to  gain  the  renewal  of 
certain  notes  against  him,  in  which  case,  writh 
the  $3,000,  he  could  continue  work  in  his  fac 
tory,  and,  within  a  few  months,  redeem  his 
obligation  to  me.  This  was  far  more  serious 
than  my  brother  Jack's  modest  request,  but  I 
was  just  as  anxious  to  comply  with  it. 

It  was  clear  that  I  would  be  obliged  to  mort 
gage  my  farm.  The  only  doubt  was  whether 
I  could  raise  the  necessary  amount  in  this 
way.  I  immediately  sent  word  to  Squire  Wil- 
loughby,  the  richest  man  in  the  township, 
who  lived  about  a  mile  up  the  valley,  to  come 
and  see  me  on  business.  He  rode  down  after 
supper  that  day,  and  I  told  him  what  I  wanted. 
We  walked  over  the  farm  and  he  mentally 
took  an  inventory  of  it.  At  last  he  said  he 
wxmld  not  take  a  mortgage  for  over  $2,900. 
It  was  useless  trying  to  persuade  him  to  raise 
his  bid  even  a  hundred.  So  I  was  obliged  to 
accept  his  offer,  and  the  next  day  the  papers 
were  prepared  and  signed,  and  he  handed  me 
his  check  for  the  amount. 

Late  that  afternoon  I  was  in  my  garden, 
hoeing  my  potato  patch  and  wondering  how  I 
262 


The   Story  of  Four  Carrier  Pigeons 

might  secure  the  additional  one  hundred  dol 
lars  to  make  up  the  even  three  thousand  that 
my  sister  Penelope  and  her  husband  desired, 
when  suddenly  I  became  aware  that  something 
had  lighted  on  my  right  shoulder.  Turning, 
I  saw  Josephine.  I  could  easily  recognize  her 
by  the  golden-brown  ring  around  her  neck. 
Yes,  here  was  my  favorite  pigeon,  Josephine. 
Ere  I  had  time  to  salute  her,  the  other  three 
were  scrambling  for  the  best  resting-place  on 
my  shoulders. 

I  at  once  dropped  the  hoe  and  made  for  the 
house,  overjoyed  at  the  unexpected  return  of 
my  pets,  which  seemed  equally  elated  at  hav 
ing  found  me.  ' '  Where  did  you  come  from  ? ' ' 
"  How  did  you  get  away?"  "Are  you  not 
afraid  that  it  will  be  suspected  where  you 
are  ? ' '  These  were  some  of  the  inquiries  I 
addressed  to  them,  as  I  approached  the  house. 
The  only  answer  they  gave  me  was  an  affec 
tionate,  satisfied  coo,  as  they  nestled  closer  to 
my  neck. 

It  was  a  pleasure,  indeed,  to  have  my  pigeons 
back  again.  After  we  had  enjoyed  a  play- 
spell,  as  of  old,  I  became  meditative.  I  rea 
soned  to  myself  that  the  pigeons  could  not 
have  escaped  from  Mr.  Pullen.  He  had  dealt 
too  long  in  specimens  of  the  feathery  kingdom 
263 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

for  such  a  thing  to  be  probable.  The  more 
plausible  inference  was  that  they  had  deserted 
the  party  to  whom  Mr.  Pullen  had  sold  them. 
Was  it  likely  that  this  party  would  endeavor 
to  recover  them  ?  Yes,  and  would  he  not  nat 
urally  go  to  Mr.  Pullen  to  ascertain  from 
whom  he  had  obtained  them,  and  then  come 
to  me  with  the  question :  ' '  Have  you  seen 
anything  of  the  four  carrier  pigeons  you  sold 
the  other  day  to  George  Pullen  of  Center- 
ville?" 

That,  too,  seemed  likely.  At  this  point  in 
my  reflections  I  was  seized  with  the  first  dis 
honest  thought  which  I  think  ever  crossed  my 
mind. 

The  first  town  of  any  considerable  size  north 
of  where  I  lived  was  Truckton,  twenty-two 
miles  distant.  It  was  larger  by  some  four  thou 
sand  inhabitants  than  Centerville,  with  which 
it  was  connected  by  a  stage  route.  Between 
these  two  towns  I  had  divided  my  patronage 
among  the  stores,  and,  if  anything,  I  was 
better  acquainted  in  Truckton  than  in  the 
other  place.  I  knew  a  man  in  Truckton  who 
kept  a  large  bird  establishment,  and  I  now 
conceived  the  idea  of  going  to  him  and  trying 
to  sell  the  pigeons.  I  did  not  pause  to  con 
sider  the  total  lack  of  honesty  involved  in 
264 


The   Story  of  Four  Carrier  Pigeons 

this  act,  my  whole  mind  being  concentrated 
upon  the  wish  to  procure  the  $3,000,  to  send 
my  unfortunate  kindred. 

The  stage  from  Centerville  usually  passed 
my  house  on  its  way  to  Truckton  every  morn 
ing  at  about  ten  o'clock.  With  my  pigeons 
carefully  concealed  from  sight,  in  a  bundle  so 
arranged  as  to  furnish  them  sufficient  air,  I 
hailed  the  driver  of  the  Truckton-bound  stage 
on  the  following  morning,  and  mounted  to 
the  vacant  seat  beside  him.  During  the 
journey  I  attempted  to  maintain  my  usual 
composure,  and  to  forget,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  nature  of  my  errand,  but  my  conscience, 
like  the  proverbial  kingly  crown,  would  not 
easily  rest.  Haunted  by  the  fear  that  my 
double-dealing  would  be  detected,  and  thus 
bring  me  to  disgrace,  my  manner  and  words 
must  have  seemed  artificially  gay  to  the 
stage  driver,  though  he  gave  forth  no  sign 
that  he  suspected  me  of  any  mysterious  pur 
pose. 

Arriving  in  Truckton,  I  at  once  proceeded 
to  the  shop  of  Mr.  Sinclair,  the  bird-dealer. 
Without  waiting  to  exchange  the  customary 
commonplaces,  I  undid  my  bundle  and  ex 
plained  to  him  that  the  four  pigeons  that 
flew  out  were  for  sale. 

265 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

"The  birds,"  I  nervously  remarked,  "as 
you  can  see,  are  very  fine  specimens.  They 
have,  sir,  a  remarkable  history." 

Mr.  Sinclair  closely  scrutinized  the  birds, 
and  asked:  "What  is  their  history  ?  " 

I  thereupon  related  to  him  the  story  of  the 
pigeons,  to  which  he  listened  attentively,  but 
with  a  slight  expression  of  incredulity.  When 
I  had  finished  he  rather  indifferently  inquired 
my  price  for  them.  I  replied  that  I  valued 
them  at  $150,  which  sum  he  pooh-poohed  as 
altogether  too  exorbitant.  After  considerable 
bickering  he  agreed  to  give  me  $125,  which  I 
accepted.  I  then  left  his  shop,  secretly  pleased 
at  the  success  of  my  roguery. 

Squire  Willoughby's  check  for  $2,900  I  had 
in  my  pocket.  That  and  $100  I  exchanged 
at  the  Truckton  bank  for  a  draft  of  $3,000, 
made  out  to  the  order  of  my  brother-in-law, 
Horace  Dunbar,  to  whom  I  immediately  mailed 
it.  I  returned  home  on  the  Centerville  stage, 
and  for  several  days  afterward  I  kept  myself 
very  closely  indoors,  allowing  my  farm  boy, 
John  Sanders,  to  perform  all  the  duties  per 
taining  to  the  farm.  Only  under  cover  of 
darkness  would  I  steal  out  for  my  usual  exer 
cise,  and  frequently  I  cut  short  my  walk  by 
reason  of  a  vague  fear  that  I  was  being  fol- 
266 


The   Story  of  Four  Carrier  Pigeons 

lowed.  During  this  period  my  life  was  mis 
erable,  and  I  learned  for  the  first  time  that 
conscience  not  only  makes  a  coward  of  a  man, 
but  tortures  him  worse  than  any  bodily  pain. 
I  was  somewhat  consoled,  however,  for  my 
dishonest  transaction  with  Mr.  Sinclair  by  the 
receipt  of  a  letter  from  Penelope  and  Horace 
—  a  letter  full  of  tender  gratitude  and  thanks 
for  the  relief  I  had  afforded  them  ;  and,  finally, 
I  gave  up  brooding  over  my  infamous  deed, 
and  soothed  my  conscience  with  the  resolve 
that  as  soon  as  possible  I  would  trace  the  party 
to  whom  Mr.  Pullen  had  sold  the  pigeons  and 
reimburse  him  for  their  loss. 

I  now  began  to  take  an  interest  in  my  farm, 
and  instead  of  devoting  so  much  of  my  time  to 
my  beehives  and  to  the  care  of  my  fruit 
trees,  I  labored  like  an  ordinary  farm  hand 
at  tilling  the  soil.  One  afternoon,  while  en 
gaged  in  plowing  in  a  new  field  which  I  had 
recently  freed  from  stones  and  stumps,  I  hap 
pened  to  look  upward  at  the  sky,  wondering 
what  the  weather  would  be  on  the  morrow, 
when  I  observed  four  birds  flying  in  a  straight 
line  towards  me.  Instinctively,  I  knew  they 
were  my  four  pigeons,  which  neither  time  nor 
distance,  it  seemed,  could  alienate  from  me. 
A  moment  later  they  were  perched  on  my 
267 


Boiv-Leggcd  Ghost 

shoulders,  indulging  in  their  wonted  cooings 
and  manifesting  a  redundant  joy  in  again  be 
ing  with  their  old  master. 

This  time  their  return  affected  me  to  tears, 
and  exultantly  I  called  to  John,  who  was  in 
the  neighboring  field,  to  continue  my  labor  at 
the  plow,  and  went  prancing  homeward  with 
my  pigeons  fondly  clinging  about  me.  Upon 
reaching  the  house  Priscilla  handed  me  a  let 
ter,  which  had  been  left  by  the  postman  during 
the  da}\  I  opened  the  letter,  which  was  from 
Jack  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

NEW  YORK,  August  10,  18 — . 

Dear  Brother :  —  I  am  now  in  the  hospital,  and  am 
getting  along  pretty  well,  the  physicians  say.  The 
operation  was  performed  last  week,  and  my  eyes  must 
be  kept  bandaged  for  three  weeks.  I  was  obliged  to 
come  to  the  hospital  in  order  to  obtain  the  necessary 
care  which  my  case  demands.  It  will  cost  me  another 
hundred  dollars  for  board  here  and  professional  serv 
ices.  Can  you  possibly  rake  up  that  amount  for  me  ? 
I  will  work  my  nails  off  to  repay  you  at  the  earliest 
opportunity.  Help  me,  dear  brother,  through  this 
crisis  and  you  will  never  regret  it. 

Affectionately  yours, 

JACK. 

In  the  perusal  of  this  message  I  did  not  lose 
my  patience ;    on  the   contrary,   I    recklessly 
268 


The   Story  of  Four  Carrier  Pigeons 

determined  to  double  my  sin,  and  again  sell 
the  pigeons  —  this  time  in  the  large  city  of 
Pittsburg,  fifty  miles  away.  The  next  morn 
ing  I  started  on  the  Truckton-bound  stage,  my 
pets  securely  confined  in  a  bundle  as  before. 
I  had  but  an'hour  to  wait  at  Truckton  before 
taking  a  train  for  Pittsburg.  I  did  my  wait 
ing  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  gentlemen's 
room  in  the  station,  behind  a  newspaper.  I 
reached  Pittsburg  too  late  in  the  day  to  transact 
my  business,  but,  before  going  to  bed,  I  learned 
the  name  of  the  largest  bird-dealer  in  the  city 
from  the  hotel  clerk.  The  next  morning  I 
visited  the  bird  shop  and  came  away  with 
$130,  which  I  mailed  to  Jack,  in  care  of  the 
New  York  Hospital. 

Little  remains  for  me  to  add.  I  returned 
home,  my  conscience  hardened  by  the  repeti 
tion  of  a  dishonest  act,  and  resolved  that  so 
long  as  my  pigeons  remained  faithful  to  me, 
and  my  family  continued  unfortunate,  I  would 
pursue  the  same  policy.  My  pigeons  did  re 
main  faithful,  for  in  less  than  a  week  after  I 
disposed  of  them  in  Pittsburg  they  returned 
to  me,  But,  happily,  my  family  had  no  occa 
sion  to  appeal  again  to  me  for  funds,  and  so 
I  was,  perhaps,  spared  a  career  of  unique 
knavery. 

269 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Jack  came  out  of  the  hospital  with  his  eye 
sight  wonderfully  improved,  if  not  wholly 
restored,  and  within  six  months  sent  me  his 
check  for  the  amount  I  had  advanced  him. 
He  is  working  his  way  up  in  the  law,  and 
I  am  certain  he  will  succeed.  As  for  Horace, 
he  pulled  through  his  reverses,  and  now  is 
well  on  the  road  to  fortune.  Two  years  after 
his  failure  he  repaid  me  the  loan,  with  which, 
and  wrhat  I  had  managed  to  save,  I  lifted  the 
mortgage  from  my  farm,  wrhich  nets  me  nearly 
a  thousand  a  year  —  all  an  old  bachelor  like 
myself  requires  or  deserves. 

In  conclusion,  I  will  say  that  the  man  who 
purchased  the  four  pigeons  of  Mr.  Pullen  has 
been  paid  $175  by  me,  that  being  the  price  he 
paid  Mr.  Pullen  for  them.  Mr.  Jenkins  of 
Truckton,  who  bought  the  pigeons  of  Mr. 
Sinclair,  I  paid  $200  to  cover  his  loss.  To 
Mr.  Spicer,  who  bought  the  pigeons  of  the 
dealer  in  Pittsburg,  I  remitted  the  same 
amount.  For  a  gift  to  me  those  birds  have 
proved  rather  expensive,  but  they  have  taught 
me  several  practical  and  salutary  lessons,  and 
next  to  Penelope  and  Jack  there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  I  love  so  much  as  I  love  them. 


A  Living  Tombstone 

see,  people  said  that  Jasper  Diggs  was 
born  foolish  and  that  he  was  not  re 
sponsible  for  his  actions.  His  mother 
died  in  his  babyhood,  and  he  was  left  to  take 
care  of  himself,  as  his  father  was  a  poor,  old, 
weak  invalid. 

Public  philanthropy  was  almost  an  un 
known  quantity  in  Pine  Hollow,  and  the  maxim 
of  ' '  every  man  for  himself  ' '  was  rigidly  con 
formed  to  by  the  tavern  keeper,  the  proprietor 
of  the  grocery,  and  other  less  influential  citi 
zens  of  the  village.  Even  the  seedy-looking 
parson  was  imbued  with  but  a  picayune  spirit 
of  charity,  though  he  frequently  found  occa 
sion  in  the  pulpit  to  stimulate  and  encourage 
charity  in  others. 

Jasper  had  grown  to  be  a  very  sizable  young 
man  of  twenty.  With  all  his  shattered  men 
tal  faculties,  affection  was  a  most  pronounced 
trait  in  his  character.  This  was  manifested 
in  his  zealous  care  of  his  father,  whose  ema 
ciated  form  had  lain  for  many  a  long,  weary 
271 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

month  upon  a  couch  of  pain  from  which  the 
poor  man  was  destined  never  to  rise  again. 
Jasper  was  his  nurse,  his  companion.  If  the 
old  man  sometimes  wearied  of  his  boy's  vague 
chatter  about  a  thousand  nothings,  of  his  nerv 
ous  facial  contortions,  or  his  monotonous  im 
personations,  he  could,  after  all,  bear  these 
trifling  annoyances  in  return  for  all  the  kind 
attention  of  which  he  was  the  recipient  from 
this  same  unfortunate  son.  What  little  re 
mained  of  the  old  man's  life,  ebbed  slowly,  day 
by  day,  until  at  last  his  name  was  written  in 
the  book  of  mortality. 

"Well,  old  Diggs  is  gone,"  was  the  cur 
rent  expression  of  the  generation  that  knew 
him  best.  Affairs  in  Pine  Hollow,  of  course, 
moved  on  in  their  wonted  style.  Mr.  Diggs' s 
death  was  soon  forgotten.  But  no!  it  was 
not  forgotten ;  Jasper  Diggs  remembered  it 
but  too  well. 

The  idea  of  providing  a  suitable  tombstone 
to  the  memory  of  his  father  seemed  to  have 
taken  possession  of  Jasper's  mind  a  few  days 
after  the  old  man's  death.  Some  suggested 
that  the  easiest  way  to  get  enough  money  to 
purchase  one  would  be  to  go  around  with  a 
subscription  list.  Acting  upon  this  hint,  he 
started  out  on  his  hopeless  mission.  I  say 


A  Living  Tombstone 

hopeless,  because  they  looked  upon  Jasper  as 
more  of  a  fool  than  he  was ;  hence  they 
treated  him  far  worse  than  he  deserved.  He 
went  from  house  to  house,  meeting  only  re 
buffs,  sneers,  and  ridicule. 

At  night  he  repaired  to  the  cemetery  where 
he  slept,  preferring  to  be  near  his  dead  father 
than  in  the  lonely  cottage.  He  had  tramped 
all  over  the  village,  and  found  only  one  per 
son  willing  to  render  him  assistance,  and  that 
one  had  signed  for  half  a  dollar.  Every  one 
else  had  refused  to  give  anything  but  his 
moral  support.  Therefore,  like  a  perfectly 
sane  young  man,  he  abandoned  the  enterprise, 
though  the  insatiable  longing  for  a  monument 
to  his  father's  memory  possessed  him  as 
keenly  as  ever. 

A  week  later,  one  of  Pine  Hollow's  miserly 
citizens,  while  passing  the  cemetery,  made  a 
strange  and  wonderful  discovery.  He  did 
not  go  into  the  grocery  shop  that  night  as 
early  as  usual,  in  order  to  allow  all  the  fre 
quenters  to  assemble  so  that  he  might  have  a 
good  audience  to  listen  to  what  he  had  to  say. 
The  crowd  was  laying  in  a  stock  of  peanuts 
and  plug  tobacco  as  he  entered,  and  his  nervous 
patience  was  taxed  to  the  utmost  in  refraining 
from  calling  the  meeting  to  order  at  once. 


The  Bo-jo-Legged  Ghost 

"Well,  boys,"  he  began,  after  the  counter 
and  every  available  box  and  barrel  had  been 
extemporized  for  seats,  "you'd  a  laughed 
your  gizzards  out  to  see  what  I  did  this  morn- 
in'.  I  was  footin'  it  over  to  Hi  Cassaways' 
to  see  'bout  him  buildin'  me  a  new  corncrib 
next  week,  an'  as  I  come  to  the  graveyard,  I 
noticed  a  man  standin'  in  there.  Comin'  up 
closter,  I  reco'nized  Jasper  Diggs,  poor  devil  ! 
He  was  standin'  perfectly  still,  an'  when  I  got 
right  oppusite,  I  hollered  out:  '  Hey,  there, 
Jasp,  what  yer  doin'?  '  Well,  I'll  be  dog  dang 
if  he  stirred  a  confounded  inch.  Then  I  hol 
lered  again,  but  he  didn't  move.  Sez  I  to  my 
self,  says  I,  like  as  not  the  poor  dumb  critter's 
in  a  fit,  or  got  one  of  his  blasted  delusions. 
I'll  jes'  go  up  an'  see  what  ails  him.  When 
I  got  around  not  more'n  a  rod  or  so  in  front 
of  him,  I  see  a  square  piece  of  this  ere  paste 
board  hangin'  on  a  string  around  his  neck. 
There  was  letters  on  it,  but  as  I  don't  pertend 
to  be  much  eddicated,  I  couldn't  read  'em. 
But  it's  my  opinion  he's  trying  to  run  Bill 
Davis,  the  marble  dealer,  oppursition,  and  be 
his  own  tombstone." 

A  loud  guffaw  on  the  part  of  the  listeners 
followed  close  upon  the  conclusion  of  these  re 
marks  and  then  continued  laughter  augmented 
274 


A  Living-  Tombstone 

the  hilarity.  Of  course,  the  curious  visited 
the  cemetery  and  found  the  report  true  to  the 
letter.  There  stood  Jasper,  as  motionless  as 
the  monument  he  was  representing,  his  facial 
expression  displaying  a  deathlike  rigidity.  No 
amount  of  diverting  noises  or  threatening 
gestures  changed  the  fixed  stare  that  literally 
poured  out  of  his  eyes.  The  placard  placed 
around  his  neck  bore  this  inscription  :  — 

"  SACKED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 
MY  FATHER, 

BORN ,  DIED , 

THIS  TOMBSTONE  IN  DEFAULT  OF  A  MORE 
ENDURING  ONE  is  ERECTED." 

The  people  of  the  Hollow  had  something  to 
laugh  over  at  last.  Throughout  and  beyond 
the  county  the  fact  spread  that  in  Pine  Hol 
low  cemetery  there  was  a  living  tombstone. 
Visitors  flocked  to  the  place. 

Now,  it  would  mar  the  authenticity  of  this 
story  to  say  that  Jasper  Diggs  had  no  relaxa 
tion,  that  he  stood  at  the  head  of  his  father's 
grave  night  and  day,  and,  like  any  other  tomb 
stone,  didn't  eat  and  sleep.  When  evening 
came,  he  left  the  place  with  solemn  delibera 
tion  and  wended  his  way  homeward.  He 
appeared  in  his  conventional  style,  until  he 
returned  to  the  cemetery  the  following  morn- 
275 


The  Bo~jo-Lcggcd  Ghost 

ing.  At  noon,  if  no  visitors  lingered  about 
the  grounds,  Jasper  ate  his  luncheon,  which 
he  had  brought  with  him. 

It  must  have  dawned  on  the  astute  reader's 
mind  ere  this  that  there  was  one  prime  object 
which  held  Jasper  Diggs  with  such  fidelity  to 
his  post.  He  was  quite  rapidly  gaining  that 
object,  for  nearly  every  stranger  dropped  a 
coin  into  the  yawning  money-box  that  was  at 
tached  to  his  waist-belt. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  November.  A 
heavy  cloak  of  snow  covered  the  earth  like  a 
shroud.  The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close. 
The  boy,  who  for  years  had  been  the  target 
for  all  kinds  of  ridicule  and  abuse,  the  general 
laughing  stock  of  the  village,  resigned  his  po 
sition  that  day,  leaving  the  cemetery,  half- 
frozen,  but  with  three  hundred  and  eighty 
dollars,  the  scattered  donations  of  charity,  and 
not  one  red  cent  of  it  had  come  from  the  pocket 
of  an  inhabitant  of  Pine  Hollow. 

Jasper  Diggs  was  able  to  purchase  for  his 
father  a  worthy  monument,  and  it  may  well 
be  imagined  that  he  went  to  and  came  from  it 
with  just  feelings  of  pride.  Somehow  people 
after  that  hung  their  heads  and  acted  as  though 
they  were  ashamed  of  themselves  when  Jasper 
was  around,  and  no  one  ventured  any  longer 
276 


A  Living  J^ombstone 

to  mock  his  manners  or  to  jeer  at  his  condi 
tion.  And,  somehow,  Jasper  did  not  appear 
to  their  eyes  as  he  had  before,  for  in  reality  he 
gradually  reversed  the  apparent  intention  of 
nature  with  reference  to  his  mental  character 
istics. 

If  you  ever  visit  Pine  Hollow,  don't  fail  to 
go  and  see  Mr.  Diggs's  tombstone,  for  it  is  the 
finest  one  in  the  cemetery. 


277 


The  Mind  Children 

OLD  gentleman  of  patriarchal  bearing, 
weary  with  a  day's  literary  toil,  planted 
himself  in  an  easy  chair  before  an  open 
grate  fire  in  his  study.  The  twilight  shadows 
were  deepening,  and  fitful  gusts  of  the  autumn 
wind  rattled  the  windows  and  weirdly  crooned 
down  the  chimney.  In  a  few  minutes  the  old 
man's  head  sank  limply  on  the  leather  back 
of  the  chair  and  he  was  sound  asleep. 

It  is  said  the  brain  never  rests  ;  that  the  prin 
ciple  of  intelligence  is  always  active,  whether 
wre  are  sleeping  or  awake.  Within  this  old 
man's  shapely  Titanic  head  to-night,  while 
he  slumbered  on,  there  seemed  to  be  a  conges 
tion  of  mental  images.  These  brain  children 
jostled  each  other  in  their  restless  eagerness 
to  obtain  freedom.  In  the  stampede  that  fol 
lowed,  many  a  delicate  offspring  of  his  mind 
was  trampled  upon  and  crushed  out  of  ex 
istence,  and  even  some  of  the  hardier  and 
stronger  ones  were  injured  in  the  panic. 
Among  these  brain  children  that  were  fortu- 
278 


The  Mind  Children 

nate  enough  to  get  out  of  the  crush  was  a  cer 
tain  Joke,  a  sprightly  little  fellow,  who  knew 
his  only  safety  was  in  getting  awray.  So  he 
stealthily  crawled  on  his  hands  and  knees 
through  a  dark  passage,  and  finally  emerged 
from  the  old  man's  left  ear.  He  did  not  linger 
long  in  the  study,  but  passed  into  a  sleeping- 
chamber,  and  thence  through  an  open  window 
he  made  his  way  into  the  outer  air.  For  a 
moment  he  stood  irresolute  on  the  pavement, 
shivering  with  cold,  for  he  was  not  used  to 
such  atmospheric  rigors. 

Presently  he  was  joined  by  a  dainty  little 
Fancy  whom  he  remembered  to  have  seen  not 
long  before  in  the  old  man's  mind. 

' '  How  did  you  get  here  ? ' '  inquired  the  Joke. 

"In  about  the  same  way  you  did,"  re 
sponded  the  Fancy,  in  an  elfish  voice.  "  But 
I'm  almost  sorry  I  came,  for  they  say  deserters 
like  us  always  come  to  grief.  But  I  feared 
being  killed  if  I  remained  in  that  awful  mob. 
Behold  !  Another  refugee  is  coming." 

Sure  enough  !  While  the  Fancy  was  speak 
ing,  the  two  brain  children  were  joined  by  a 
Conceit  —  a  frail,  feminine  being,  not  unlike 
the  Fancy  in  aspect. 

' '  Good  evening,"  saluted  the  Conceit,  cheer 
ily.  "But  isn't  it  freezing  out  here?  Oh, 
279 


The  Bo~ju-Lcgged  Ghost 

why  did  I  run  away  ?  I  might  have  been  put 
down  on  paper  to-morrow,  being  only  five 
days  old  and  evidently  a  marketable  creation 
for  Mr.  Likely,  so  fondly  and  carefully  has  he 
revolved  me  in  his  mind." 

"That  doesn't  cut  any  ice,"  said  the  Joke 
testily.  "I  have  been  Mr.  Likely 's  pet  for 
more  than  a  week,  and  he  would  have  intro 
duced  me  to  the  world,  in  his  own  handwrit 
ing,  on  the  day  of  my  birth,  had  he  not  been 
so  busy  finishing  his  novel,  the  last  word  of 
which  he  wrote  about  an  hour  ago." 

"I  think,"  put  in  the  Fancy,  somewhat 
petulantly,  "that  I  have  just  as  many  claims 
on  Mr.  Likely  as  any  of  you.  I  should  have 
been  sent  out  into  the  world  legitimately  sev 
eral  days  ago  if  he  had  had  time  to  dress  me 
properly.  This  garb  I  am  wearing  he  intended 
only  as  a  temporary  one." 

Just  then  advanced  toward  them  with  pomp 
ous  tread,  a  Thought.  As  to  dimensions  he 
wras  larger  than  all  the  other  three  rolled  into 
one,  and  he  seemed  very  conscious  of  his  im 
portance. 

' '  What  are  you  dallying  here  for  ?  "  he 
blurted  out.  "Come,  follow  me!  We  are  all 
deserters  and  must  make  the  most  of  our  op 
portunity." 

280 


The  Mind  Children 

The  Thought  led  the  others,  who  followed 
in  single  file,  through  Twenty-Fourth  Street, 
where  Mr.  Likely  lived,  into  Broadway.  They 
proceeded  silently  down  that  thoroughfare,  and, 
after  a  brisk  walk  of  two  hours,  they  brought 
up  at  Battery  Park.  Thoroughly  fatigued, 
they  seated  themselves  on  a  bench  on  the  sea 
wall,  and  for  some  time  gazed  out  over  the 
harbor  and  the  lights  of  anchored  ships,  in 
mute  admiration. 

"  What  a  wonderful  world  it  is,"  sighed  the 
Fancy  to  herself.  Then  spoke  brusquely  the 
Thought:  "  Well,  what  do  you  Lilliputians 
propose  to  do?  Sit  here  and  languish  to 
death  ? ' ' 

"We  can't  accomplish  much  to-night,  I 
fear,"  ventured  the  Conceit,  in  a  voice  that 
showed  she  had  already  taken  cold. 

' '  Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Likely  would  take 
us  back  without  punishing  us  ?  "  queried  the 
Fancy. 

"  I've  a  good  notion  to  go  up  to  one  of  the 
newspaper  offices,  find  out  who  the  humorist 
is,  and  slip  through  his  ear  into  his  mind," 
prattled  the  Joke  gayly. 

"  Not  a  bad  idea,"  said  the  Thought,  "  but 
I  doubt  if  you  would  be  successful.  I  fear 
you  are  too  light  a  weight  to  make  much  im- 
281 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

pression  on  the  brain  of  a  professional  humor 
ist.  Now,  I  might  be  reincarnated  with  some 
hope  of  a  glorious  destiny.  And  if  it  were 
not  for  leaving  you  here  helpless  and  unpro 
tected,  I  should  start  this  minute  in  search 
of  some  eminent  thinker,  who,  you  may  be 
sure,  would  welcome  me  with  profound  grati 
tude." 

"  I  am  getting  fairly  numb,"  said  the  Con 
ceit.  ' '  My  running  away  was  a  suicidal 
policy." 

' '  You  should  have  counted  the  cost  before 
hand,"  returned  the  Thought.  "  I  pity  you, 
but  I  don't  know  how  I  can  render  you  as 
sistance.  ' ' 

"We  are  two  sisters  in  distress,"  said  the 
Fancy,"  and  if  it  must  be,  we  will  perish  to 
gether." 

"Well,  when  it  comes  to  that,"  remarked 
the  Joke,  "we're  all  in  the  same  boat.  I 
don't  believe  the  Thought,  though  he  is  big 
ger  and  stronger  than  we  are,  has  any  right 
to  put  on  airs  and  lord  it  over  us.  I'll  bet  I 
stand  just  as  good  a  chance  to  pull  through 
this  crisis  as  he  does." 

"Don't  get  impertinent,"  roared  the 
Thought,  "  or  I'll  toss  you  over  that  sea  wall 
into  the  water." 

282 


The  Mind  Children 

' '  Ugh  !  how  could  you  be  so  cruel  to  your 
little  brother  ? ' '  said  the  Fancy  with  a  shud 
der. 

For  an  hour  the  Thought  indulged  in  blus 
tering  talk  and  bullied  his  companions  until 
he,  too,  began  to  feel  cold  and  sleepy. 
Meanwhile,  the  other  three  were  discussing 
ways  and  means,  but  they  could  not  come  to 
any  understanding.  Finally  the  Fancy  said  : 
"  It  must  be  close  on  to  midnight.  For  one  I 
am  sorry  I  ran  away  and  I  am  going  back  to 
see  if  I  cannot  find  lodgment  in  the  mind 
that  gave  me  birth.  Will  you  come  with  me, 
Conceit  ? ' ' 

Conceit  answered:  "Willingly,"  and  to 
gether  the  two  sisters  started  across  the  park. 
They  had  not  gone  far  when  the  Joke  said  : 
"Thought,  you  and  I  are  two  precious  fools 
to  linger  here.  We  should  at  least  escort  our 
sisters  back  and  protect  them  against  possible 
footpads. ' ' 

"I  guess  you  are  right,"  assented  the 
Thought,  with  a  smile  of  humiliation. 

The  Thought  and  the  Joke  soon  caught 
up  with  the  Fancy  and  the  Conceit,  and  they 
went  up  Broadway  abreast,  as  fast  as  they 
could  scramble.  It  was  past  one  o'clock  when 
they  reached  Mr.  lyikely's  study.  The  old 
283 


The  Bovj-Lcggcd  Ghost 

man  still  sat  in  his  chair  and  was  snoring 
sonorously.  The  Thought,  without  a  word 
of  announcement,  climbed  up  the  old  gentle 
man's  legs  and  body,  and  entered  his  right 
ear.  Being  a  bulky  fellow,  the  Thought  had 
a  tight  squeeze  to  get  through  the  orifice,  and 
in  his  efforts  he  must  have  produced  a  tick 
ling  sensation,  for  the  old  man  roused  and 
scratched  his  ear  with  his  forefinger.  While 
this  was  going  on,  the  other  three  brain  child 
ren  slipped  into  Mr.  Likely 's  mind  through 
his  left  ear,  which  he  also  rubbed  vigorously, 
remarking  to  himself:  "Well,  that  was  a 
singular  dream  of  mine, —  a  singular  dream. 
Ha !  ha  !  Very  strange.  But  since  my 
mental  wayfarers  have  safely  returned,  I'll 
lock  the  doors  and  retire." 


284 


SECTION   II. 
MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES 


(285) 


Eugene  Field  and  Bill  Nye 


A  Reminiscence  and  an  Original  Manuscript 


w  MADE  a  pleasant  visit  to  Denver  in  1882, 
M,  for  the  purpose  of  writing  up  the  Min 
ing  and  Mineral  Exposition,  held  there 
that  year,  for  the  Boston  Post,  of  which  I  was 
an  accredited  traveling  correspondent. 

Of  course  I  made  Mr.  Field's  acquaintance 
and  met  him  nearly  every  day  for  several 
weeks.  He  was  then  publishing  a  series  of 
the  famous  "  Primer  "  in  the  Tribune,  of  which 
he  was  the  managing  editor,  and  writing 
pyramids  of  verse,  much  of  which  has  not  so 
far  been  included  in  any  of  his  volumes.  It 
was  fairly  good  newspaper  verse  and  was  ex 
tensively  copied,  especially  by  the  Western 
press.  One  of  Mr.  Field's  fads  at  that  time 
was  to  clip  out  all  of  his  original  poems,  copied 
in  other  papers,  and  paste  them  on  the  ceiling 
and  boarded  walls  that  partitioned  off  his 
sanctum  from  the  other  editorial  departments 


First  published  in    The  Bookman. 
287 


T]ie  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

in  the  Tribune  office.  These  walls,  and  the 
ceiling  as  well,  were  covered  with  poetry  by 
Eugene  Field.  You  would  see  the  same  poem 
in  a  dozen  places,  scissored  from  as  many 
papers,  and  the  effect  on  the  eye  was  odd  and 
curious. 

One  day  Mr.  Field  told  me  he  had  at  times 
some  parrot  and  monkey  struggles  with  the 
reluctant  muse.  There  were  days,  he  said, 
when  she  was  out  of  sorts  and  obstinate,  and 
then  the  mischievous  rhymes  tried  their  best 
to  elude  his  pen.  In  these  emergencies  he  re 
sorted  to  the  primitive  method  of  audibly  re 
peating  the  alphabet  of  monosyllables  for  some 
rhyming  word  that  would  fit,  and  meet  the 
nice  requirements  of  syntax  and  prosody. 

For  instance,  if  he  desired  a  word  rhyming 
with  the  termination  at,  he  would  commence 
with  the  first  rhyming  word  bat,  and  proceed 
thus :  brat,  cat,  chat,  fat,  hat,  mat,  pat,  rat, 
slat,  that,  and  so  on.  And  thus  he  maundered 
among  the  plaguy  rhymes  until  he  made 
them  tally  in  sound  and  sense. 

It  was  rather  difficult  to  credit  this  confes 
sion,  and  I  intimated  that  he  must  be  spring 
ing  some  occult  joke  on  me ;  thereupon  he 
solemnly  protested  that  this  system  of  captur 
ing  recalcitrant  rhymes  was  a  common  expe- 
288 


Eugene  Field  and  Bill  JVye 

dient  of  his.  Well,  training  does  much  for 
poets,  as  for  everybody  else,  and  it  may  be 
confidently  stated  that  Mr.  Field  eventually 
brought  his  capricious  muse  to  terms,  and 
obliged  her  to  capitulate  ;  for,  whatever  may 
be  its  other  deficiencies,  his  later  metrical 
work  betrays  none  of  those  stilted,  strained, 
mechanical  devices  which  would  indicate  that 
he  persisted  in  "  that  crude,  schoolboy  method 
of  composition." 

Bill  Nye,  whom  I  already  had  visited  in 
L,aramie  City,  Wyoming,  where  he  then  lived 
(and  of  whom,  by  the  way,  I  was  the  first 
newspaper  writer  to  give  a  biographical  sketch 
in  print),  came  to  Denver,  and  knowing  that 
I  was  stopping  at  the  Windsor  Hotel,  he 
joined  me  there.  The  "boys"  on  the  Den 
ver  press  gave  Nye  a  dinner  at  which  Field 
presided,  and  I  remember  there  was  some 
side-splitting  persiflage  exchanged  at  the 
table,  and  some  jolly  postprandial  oratory. 

The  next  day,  Field,  Nye,  Colonel  Will 
Yisscher,  a  breezy  and  eccentric  literary  char 
acter  of  the  West,  and  myself,  whom  they 
had  christened  "THE  BABY,"  went  to  a 
photograph  ' '  gallery, ' '  and  the  four  of  us  were 
taken  in  a  group  picture.  I  have  never  been 
able  to  procure  a  copy  of  that  photograph, 
19  289 


Bow- Legged  Ghost 

though  I  would  give  considerably  more  than 
my  royalties  on  my  first  book  of  verses  to 
possess  it.  I  have  even  forgotten  the  name 
of  the  photographer  —  a  clear  case  of  aphasia. 
Mr.  Field  afterward  wrote  me  that  he,  too, 
had  searched  for  that  photograph,  but  with 
out  success. 

As  I  was  taking  my  leave  of  Bill  Nye  in 
Denver,  he  thrust  a  long  envelope  into  my 
hand  and  said  :  ' '  Here  is  a  little  manuscript 
sketch  I  wrote  as  far  back  as  1870.  I  give  it. 
to  you  as  a  proof  that  I  was  not  always  a 
jester  with  the  quill.  Perhaps  when  you  are 
writing  my  obituary  some  time,  you  can  use 
it." 

And  sure  enough  the  pathetic  and  pretty 
little  sketch  comes  in  conveniently  now, 
though  I  am  not  writing  poor  Bill  Nye's  obit 
uary.  I  transcribe  it  from  the  original,  and 
here  it  is  :  — 

AN   UNFINISHED   POEM 

BY  BILL  NYE 

§NCE,  a  long  time  ago,  I  began  to  write  a  poem. 
It  was  to  be  perfect  in  metre  and  in  rhyme,  and 
so   truthful    in    sentiment    that   thousands   of 
hearts  should  throb  and  thrill  to  its  music.     I  bepan  it 
with  high  hopes,  and   christened   it  with   the   name 
290 


Eitgcne  Field  and  Bill  Nye 

of  a  child.  But  the  work  moved  slowly  and  the  lines 
seemed  very  tame,  so  that  I  returned  again  and  again 
to  the  child-model  for  inspiration,  and  looked  into  the 
merry  eyes  for  help. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  very  little  of  my  time  was 
devoted  to  the  poem,  and  a  great  deal  was  devoted  to 
my  hero.  No  slave  ever  lived  under  a  more  unlimited 
monarchy  than  I  under  the  reign  of  a  pair  of  laugh 
ing  eyes,  and  no  true  loyal  subject  ever  bowed  in 
meeker  submission  or  blessed  his  sweet  bondage  as  I 
did,  with  my  neck  beneath  the  dimpled  foot  of  my 
conqueror. 

Thus  the  summer  came  with  the  tinkling  music  of 
the  bobolink,  the  misty  blue  of  June  mornings,  and 
the  evening  concerts  of  the  sleepy-voiced  crickets. 
The  long,  dreary  days  were  short  to  me,  for  I  was  un 
der  a  spell,  and  the  wand  of  the  enchanter  was  a 
baby's  tiny  rattle.  So  I  still  dreamed  on  of  the  poem 
that  should  crown  this  summer  vision  with  an  ode  to 
my  king,  the  beck  of  whose  chubby  hand  was  my  law. 

But  the  poem  is  only  half  finished.  It  was  broken 
off  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  and  now  it  is  growing 
yellow  beneath  a  pair  of  scarlet  and  white  stockings. 
Those  summer  days  are  locked  in  a  frozen  sky  ;  the 
roses  and  the  violets  are  covered  with  the  drifting 
snow.  With  the  death  of  the  year  came  the  time  for 
the  waxen  hands  to  be  forever  still, —  those  hands  that 
hold  my  heartstrings  in  their  eternal  stillness  ;  those 
hands  that  seem  to  touch  me  yet  and  take  me  back  to 
that  golden  summertime  when  I  was  trying  to  write 
my  poem. 

There  are  tears  in  this  touching  little  piece, 
especially  when  it  is  understood  that  the  hu- 
291 


The  Bo*uu-Lcgged  Ghost 

morist  was  writing  about  his  •  baby  boy  of 
whom  he  was  robbed  by  the  White  Dread,  and 
whom  the  genial  fun-maker  has  since  joined. 

There  is  no  need  to  speak  of  Nye's  subse 
quent  rise  to  popularity  and  his  exceptional 
career  as  a  "jester  with  the  quill."  Have  we 
not  all  laughed  with  him,  and  found  our  heavy 
hours  grow  light  with  his  abundant  mirth  ? 


292 


The  Man  Who  Couldn't  Laugh 


numerous  anecdotes  related  to  me 
^p|     by  the  late  "  Billy"  Birch,  the  veteran 
burnt-cork    comedian,   was  the  follow 
ing:  - 

'  '  On  the  night  the  San  Francisco  Minstrels 
opened  their  house  at  585  Broadway,  I  noticed 
in  the  second  row  of  the  orchestra  a  tall 
imposing-looking  man,  with  a  thick  shock 
of  gray  hair  and  two  big  black  eyes  as  sharp 
as  the  edge  of  a  razor.  He  was  handsomely 
dressed,  but  there  was  something  very  austere 
about  his  countenance.  A  continual  scowl 
added  fierceness  to  his  aspect,  which  arrested 
my  attention.  He  kept  his  penetrating  gaze 
upon  me  and  did  not  seem  to  be  enjoying 
himself  in  the  least.  Joke  after  joke  and  jest 
after  jest  rolled  from  our  lips,  but  his  face,  in 
stead  of  relaxing,  seemed  more  rigid  than 
ever.  Finally  his  unusual  expression  began 
to  annoy  me.  I  resolved  to  make  that  man 
293 


The  Bvw-Legged  Ghost 

laugh  if  it  were  the  last  thing  I  ever  did. 
I  rose,  advanced  close  to  the  footlights  and 
talked  at  that  man  a  string  of  nonsense  that 
would  have  made  a  rag  baby  yell  '  Murder!' 
He  did  not  evince  the  slightest  sign  that  he 
was  amused.  But  I  persevered. 

"  Looking  straight  at  him,  I  continued  the 
harangue,  which  called  forth  shrieks  of  laugh 
ter  from  the  rest  of  the  audience,  which,  like 
every  member  of  the  company,  soon  caught  on 
to  what  I  was  trying  to  do.  This  made  my 
efforts  all  the  funnier.  But  that  gentleman 
remained  untouched  and  rigid  as  the  Sphinx. 
At  last  I  gave  it  up  in  despair,  and  tumbled 
into  my  chair  nearly  dead  with  exhaustion. 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  the  man  was  either 
insane,  or  else  he  was  too  obstinate  to  manifest 
any  appreciation  of  my  efforts.  But  on  the 
following  night  the  same  gentleman  was  seen 
in  the  same  seat.  Again  I  tried  my  best  to 
make  him  smile,  and  so  did  Charlie  Backus, 
but  we  dismally  failed. 

' '  The  members  of  the  company  began  to 
'  gag  '  us  sotto  voce  by  asking  us  if  we  couldn't 
move  that  man  in  the  second  row,  and  by  re 
marking  that  we  were  making  that  man  mad 
and  weary.  But  night  after  night  the  man 
kept  coming,  though  none  of  us  ever  saw  him 
294 


TJic  l\Ian   Who  Couldn"1 1  Laugh 

wear  anything  on  his  face  but  the  same  old 
bored,  half-revengeful  look. 

"  His  presence  put  a  sort  of  damper  on  us. 
Every  night  when  we  took  our  places,  just  be 
fore  the  curtain  was  rung  up,  I  indulged  in 
the  earnest  hope  that  he  would  not  be  there. 
But  he  was,  nor  did  he  miss  the  matinees. 
He  always  came  to  them.  It  was  more  than 
a  year  after  he  had  become  our  constant  pa 
tron  that  one  night  after  the  performance,  as 
Backus,  Wambold,  and  myself  were  passing 
out  of  the  theatre,  this  man  stepped  up  to  me 
and  asked  politely  if  he  could  speak  to  me 
for  a  moment.  I  replied,  'Certainly.' 

"  Then  he  said  :  '  Mr.  Birch,  as  perhaps  you 
are  aware,  I  have  attended  every  performance 
you  have  given  since  you  opened  here.  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  I  thoroughly  enjoy  your 
singing  and  acting.  No  man  ever  amused  me 
so  much  as  you  do.  In  fact,  I  rarely  ever 
went  to  the  theatre  until  I  happened  to  step 
into  this  place.  And  now  time  hangs  heavily 
on  my  hands  unless  I  am  listening  to  your 
fun.  But  there  is  one  thing  more  I  want  to 
explain  to  you.  Much  as  I  am  convulsed  in 
side  by  your  droll  sayings  and  humor,  I  can't 
for  the  life  of  me  show  it  in  the  face.  I  never 
could.  No  one  ever  heard  me  laugh  or  saw 
295 


The  Bo~jo-Legged  Ghost 

me  smile.  I  don't  know  how  to  do  it.  I 
never  learned.  It  may  seem  odd  to  you,  but 
such  is  the  case.  I  thought  I'd  explain  it  to 
you,  so  that  you  would  understand  that  it  is 
not  because  I  do  not  hugely  appreciate  you  as 
a  comedian,  that  I  do  not  laugh.  I  feel  it  all 
inside.' 

"  I  told  him  I  had  heard  of  men  that 
could  not  shed  tears,  no  matter  how  great 
might  be  their  grief,  but  that  he  was  the  first 
man  I  had  ever  known  who  could  not  laugh 
when  he  felt  that  way.  He  invited  us  into 
Delmonico's  and  'cracked'  a  bottle  of  cham 
pagne,  and  we  found  him  a  capital  fellow  and 
a  good  story-teller  himself.  His  name  was 
Francis  \Vakefield.  He  had  made  a  fortune 
in  Mexico,  and  claimed  to  be  a  bachelor.  He 
continued  to  attend  our  show  for  several 
years,  in  fact  up  to  within  a  short  time  before 
his  death. 


Polly 

is  the  name  of  a  chambermaid  in  the 
MJk     employ  of    Mr.   B ,  a  literary  man, 

<^r> 

well  known  to  the  reading  public.  She 
came  to  New  York  about  three  years  ago, 
and  was  found  by  the  man  of  letters  in  an 
employment  agency  and  engaged. 

Polly  is  a  lusty  young  colored  —  deeply  col 
ored —  woman  of  about  twenty-five,  with  large 
sad,  bulging  black  eyes,  flat  nose,  and  lips 
that  fail  to  denote  the  real  sensitiveness  of  her 
nature.  She  has  not  been  endowed  with  a 
great  intellect  or  many  graces  of  person,  but 
she  has  a  good  kind  heart,  and  a  disposition 
as  sweet  and  loyal  as  you  will  find  in  a  week's 
journey  among  white  trash. 

The  master  of  the  house  is  in  the  habit  of 
saying  more  or  less  to  her,  according  to  his 
mood,  when  she  comes  into  his  study  mornings 
to  empty  the  waste-basket  and  cuspidor,  and 
tidy  up  things.  Sometimes  he  is  fond  of  quiz 
zing  her,  or  of  giving  her  some  startling  piece 
297 


The  BO-JU- Legged  Ghost 

of  information,  spurioas  on  the  face  of  it, which 
she  goes  away  pondering  in  all  seriousness. 
One  morning  he  solemnly  asked  her  if  she  did 
not  think  perspicuity  one  of  the  most  essential 
things  in  literary  composition.  She  frankly 
admitted  she  did  not  understand  the  question, 

whereupon  Mr.  B added  still  more  to  her 

mental  confusion  by  attempting  to  explain  — 
something  in  this  wise:  "By  perspicuity, 
Polly,  I  mean  that  quality  of  style  which, 
while  allowing  adequate  elucidation  and  ampli 
fication  to  an  idea,  yet  brings  it  within  the 
smallest  possible  logical  compass,  like  the  dia 
mond,  which  focuses  all  the  primary  and  inter 
mediate  tints  of  the  rainbow." 

"Oh,  yes,  sah,"  exclaimed  Polly,  with  an 
ineffable  grin,  "  I  knows  what  you  says  'bout 
dem  things  is  zactly  right.  My  ole  boss  down 
in  Charleston  wuz  allus  speakin'  mighty  fine 
\vords  jest  like  you  coes,  but  Lor'  sakes,  I 
kaint  cotch  what  dey  means  nohow.  I  has  to 
wuk  sence  I  wuz  leben  years  ole.  I  never 
done  gone  to  school,  so  dat's  what  makes  me 
so  dumb." 

It  never  occurred  to  Polly  that  Mr.  B is 

an  inveterate  joker,  somewhat  on  the  Artemus 
Ward  order,  and  accordingly  what  he  says  she 
accepts  for  gospel. 

298 


Polly 
The  other  day   Polly  informed  Mr.   B- 


that  she  was  going  to  a  party  that  evening 
and  desired  to  appear  at  her  best. 

1 '  What  wuz  dat  word  you  said  one  time, 

Mr.  B ?     It  was  like  spicaticy  er  percus- 

picy  er  sumthin'.  I  knows  it  wuz  a  real  nice 
word  and  I  thought  I'd  like  to  use  it  to-night 
at  de  party." 

"Oh,  you  mean  perspicuity,  don't  you?" 
queried  Mr.  B ,  inwardly  chuckling. 

' '  Dat's  it,  Mr.  B .     Dat's  de  word,  suah. 

I  thank  you,  sah.  I'll  'member  it  now  — 
per-pic-scuty.  Dat's  it." 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  means,  Polly?  " 

' '  You  tells  me  what  it  means  de  udder  day. 
But  I  don'  mine  so  much  what  it  means,  if  I 
can  jest  'member  long  'nough  ter  use  it  to 
night." 

"  Very  well,"  observed  Mr.  B ,  who,  for 

fear  of  going  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  directed  his 
attention  to  the  manuscript  before  him. 

Polly  proceeded  to  Mrs.  B 'sroom,  where 

there  was  work  to  be  done. 

"  Mr.  B ,"  said  Polly,  "  has  teached  me 

a.  nice  word  to  say  to-night  at  de  party  you  tole 
me  yesterday  I  could  go  to,  an'  I'd  like  to  have 
you  git  me  a  little  piece  of  court-plaster  to 
wear  on  my  face,  if  you  please." 
299 


The  Boiv-Leggcd  Ghost 

"All  right,  Polly,"  responded  Mrs.  B . 

' '  What  color  do  you  prefer  ?  White  would 
perhaps  be  more  suitable  to  your  complex 
ion." 

"Well,  is  dat  what  de  white  ladies  wears 
now?" 

"  No,  black  is  used  entirely;  but,  you  know, 
it  is  worn  only  at  a  fancy  dress  ball  or  some 
such  occasion,"  volunteered  madame. 

"  Den  I'll  take  a  piece  of  de  black,  please. 
I  want  de  stylishest,  kase  all  my  frien's  '11  be 
at  dis  party." 

So  Polly  received  a  piece  of  black  court-plas 
ter,  which,  during  the  making  of  her  toilet,  at 
about  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  she  cut  into 
two  squares,  placing  one  in  the  middle  of  her 
chin  and  the  other  high  up  on  her  left  cheek 
bone.  But  only  a  close  observer  would  have 
noticed  these  patches,  as  they  were  exactly 
the  color  of  her  skin. 

One  of  Polly's  front  teeth  was  missing,  and 
to  render  its  absence  less  conspicuous  she 
molded  a  piece  of  white  wax  into  the  nearest 
semblance  of  an  incisor  that  her  skill  could 
devise,  and  thus  filled  up  the  rather  formid 
able  gap.  When  quite  ready  she  presented 
herself  in  her  mistress's  boudoir  to  announce 
that  she  was  going,  and  incidentally  to  inquire 
300 


Polly 

if  she  had  placed  the  bits  of  court  plaster  in 
the  proper  places.  She  also  proudly  exhibited 
her  wax  tooth,  which  she  was  so  anxious  not 
to  dislodge  that  her  speech  was  thick  and 
soggy-  Having  been  briefly  surveyed  and 
approved  by  Mrs.  B ,  Polly  took  her  depart 
ure. 

The  next  day  Polly  was  one  of  the  saddest 
looking  creatures  that  ever  survived  an  all- 
night  cake  walk.  When  asked  how  she  en 
joyed  herself  at  the  party,  tears  came  into  her 
eyes,  and  she  said  she  was  ashamed  to  say  any 
thing  about  it. 

' '  What  happened  ? ' '  urged  Mr.  B . 

"Well,"  said  Polly,  reflectively,  "I  \vent 
to  say  dat  nice  big  word  you  tole  me  ;  and  fo' 
I  got  froo,  my  toof  fell  out  an'  rolled  on  de 
flo',  an'  it  upset  me  so  I  could  a-died  right 
dare." 

' '  How  unfortunate  ! ' ' 

"But,"  continued  Polly,  "I  got  ober  my 
feelin's  bimeby,  an',  sah,  I  did  use  dat  word  at 
de  supper  table  to  Mr.  L,em  Jefferson,  my 
sweetheart  fo'  de  evenin'.  It  got  'round  dat 
I'd  lost  a  toof,  an'  Mr.  L,em  axed  me  if  it  be 
painful  to  me.  An'  I  didn't  like  dat  much, 
so  I  says,  '  You  oughter  have  more  per-cic-ity 
'n  to  ask  me  such  an  insultin'  question.'  ' 
301 


The  Boiv-Lcggcd  Ghost 


"And  what  did  Mr.  Lem  say  to  that?" 
Polly  made  for  the  door,  dragging  after  her 
the  carpet  sweeper,   as  she  said  pathetically, 
"He  says,    'No  wonder   you   lost   you  toof. 
You'll  break  you  jaw  next  on  dem  big  words. ' ' 


302 


Uncle  "Hi"    in  Paris 

HIRAM  Hix,  who  went  abroad  a  few 
years  ago  for  a  brief  sojourn  among  the 
effete  monarchies  of  the  Old  World,  re 
lated  the  story  of  his  attempted  call  upon  Hon. 
Whitelaw  Reid,  the  late  American  Minister 
to  France,  to  a  party  of  friends  the  other 
evening.  Mr.  Hix  is  a  sturdy  farmer,  the 
owner  of  many  acres  a  few  miles  out  of  the 
thriving  village  of  Nonesuch,  Iowa.  Uncle 
"  Hi  "  informed  the  circle  he  was  addressing 
of  the  following  particulars :  — 

"  While  I  was  stoppin'  in  Paris,  we  put  up  at 
the  Grand  Tavern  on  the  Rouday  Cappercines. 
I  tuck  a  notion  to  call  on  W.  Reid,  our  dominie 
to  France.  You  know,  Bill  Soper,  from  my 
town,  went  to  Europe  with  me.  Says  I  to 
Bill,  'less  go  and  see  Reid.'  'Who's  Reid,' 
says  Bill.  'Whitelaw,'  says  I ;  is  it  possible, 
Bill,  you  don't  know  the  feller  I  mean?' 
4  You've  got  me  this  time,'  says  Bill,  who  haint 
much  in  tech  with  the  times  anyway.  Then  I 
throwed  some  daylight  on  Bill's  knowledge  by 


TJie  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

informin'  him  that  Whitelaw  was  the  editor  of 
the  Try-bune  when  he  was  to  hum.  Bill 
kindy  smiled,  and  said  he  didn't  care  if  he 
was.  Bill  insisted  he'd  ruther  go  out  to  ride 
on  the  Boy-ee  and  let  Whitelaw  take  care  of 
himself.  I  didn't  agree  with  Bill  on  this  p'int. 
I've  took  the  weekly  Try-bune  almost  from 
the  day  it  started,  and  even  if  it  is  printed 
hundreds  of  miles  from  my  hum,  I  prefer  it 
to  the  Nonesuch  Agriculturist  and  Hired  Man ' s 
Bulletin. 

"I  had  a  kind  o'  curiosity  to  see  what 
Whitelaw  was  like,  havin'  took  the  Try- 
bune  so  long.  So  I  says,  'Bill,  ye  can't 
swerve  me  from  my  porpoise  ;  I'm  goin'  to  see 
Whitelaw  if  I  don't  see  another  thing  in  Paris.1 
'All  right,'  Bill  says;  '  I'll  take  a  leedle  twist 
in  the  Boy-ee.' 

' '  I  hired  a  wagon  and  told  the  driver  where 
to  go.  He  didn't  understand  me,  but  the 
landlord  of  the  Grand  Tavern  give  him  some 
baby  talk,  and  that  settled  it.  I  got  up  to 
Whitelaw's  house  after  a  pretty  long  ride.  I 
went  in  and  found  several  people  waitin'  to 
see  him.  I  sot  down  and  waited,  too,  till  I 
got  oneasy.  Pretty  soon  a  young  feller,  who 
was  clerkin'  for  Whitelaw,  come  along,  and 
I  said,  '  Good  mornin';  is  he  in?  ' 
304 


Uncle  "///"  in  J^aris 

"'Do  you  refer  to  Mr.  Reid,  sir?'  he 
asked,  in  a  high  and  mighty  manner.  '  That's 
about  the  size  of  it,'  I  replied,  showin'  him  I 
could  put  on  some  style  myself  when  it  come 
to  a  pinch. 

"'Yes,  he's  in.  But  you  will  be  obliged 
to  wait  your  turn,'  says  he,  '  onless  you've 
got  some  special  business. ' 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  I've  got  probly  as  much 
business  here  as  anybody.' 

"  '  I  don't  doubt  that,'  the  clerk  says,  com 
ing  down  off'n  his  perch  a  leedle.  '  Mr.  Reid 
will  be  able  to  see  you  in  a  short  time. 
You  had  better  send  in  your  card  to  him.' 

"With  them  words  the  clerk  scooted  off. 
What  did  Whitelaw  want  of  a  card  was  the 
next  thing  that  bothered  me.  In  the  first 
place,  I  didn't  have  no  card.  Presently  the 
clerk  come  round  agin  and  I  told  him  I  didn't 
have  no  card. 

"'Very  well,'  says  the  clerk,  'I  will  get 
you  one.'  A  couple  of  minutes  later  he 
brought  me  a  card.  I  took  it  and  looked  at 
it.  There  wasn't  anything  on  either  side  of 
it  —  just  plain  white  on  both  sides.  I  kindy 
laughed  to  myself,  wonderin'  what  that  young 
feller  took  me  for,  anyhow.  The  next  time 
he  passed  I  spoke  to  him,  handed  him  the 
20  305 


The  13  o^u- Legged  Ghost 

card,  and  told  him  to  slide  it  into  Whitelaw's 
hands.  The  clerk  didn't  show  up  agin  for 
quite  a  while,  and  when  he  did  he  was  smilin' 
like  all  possessed. 

"He  stepped  right  up  to  me  and  says,  'I 
guess  you  forgot  something,  Colonel.'  'I 
know  better,'  says  I;  'my  mem'ry's  jest  as 
good's  it  ever  was.'  Then  he  said,  'You 
omitted  to  write  your  name  on  the  card.'  I 
looked  at  him  a  minute,  not  knowin'  exactly 
what  he  was  drivin'  at.  Bimeby  I  decided  to 
chuck  down  my  name,  come  what  would,  and 
I  did.  He  pranced  off  with  the  card  agin,  but 
afore  he  started  I  whispered  in  his  ear  these 
words  :  '  Jest  say  to  Whitelaw  that  crops  was 
all  right  in  Iowa  when  I  left.  Also  tell  him 
that  I've  took  the  Try-bune  when  Horace 
Greeley  writ  for  it.'  Well,  I  waited  some 
more,  and  finly  that  young  feller  come 
sneakin'  back  to  me  and  said  Whitelaw  was 
sorry,  but  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  see  me  'tall 
that  morning.  I  tell  ye,  it  made  me  a  leedle 
mad  for  a  minute.  '  Where's  that  card,  young 
man?'  says  I,  lookin'  jest  as  if  I  meant  to  find 
out  what  I  asted. 

"  '  I  left  it  on  Mr.  Reid's  desk,'  he  answered. 

"'Well,'  I  continued,  'you  jest  skip  back 
and  git  it  about  as  fast  as  your  delicate  cousti- 
306 


Uncle  "///''  in  Paris 

tution  will  permit  you.  I  don't  propose,'  says 
I,  'to  let  Whitelaw  Reid,  or  any  other  man, 
write  a  promissory  note  for  $500  or  $1,000 
over  my  bony-fidy  signature  if  I  can  prevent 
it.  Jest  git  that  card,  and  don't  you  forgit 
it.' 

' '  He  went  and  fetched  me  the  card  I  had 
writ  my  name  on,  and  I  tore  it  up  into  pieces 
that  no  one  could  ever  patch  together  agin. 

' '  With  the  remark  that  I  wasn't  used  to  bein' 
played  for  a  greeny,  I  bowed  to  the  young 
man  like  a  United  States  Senator,  and  drove 
back  to  the  Grand  Tavern  by  way  of  the  Camp 
Eliza.  I  didn't  try  to  call  on  Whitelaw  Reid 
agin,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  stopped 
takin'  the  Try-bune,  by  jocks." 


307 


Wilder's   Latest 

?T's  difficult,"  said  the  jolly  little  jester, 
Marshall  P.  Wilder,  in  a  recent  chat, 
"  to  string  together  coherently  new  jests 
and  jokes  in  a  formal  interview.  Humorous 
efforts,  as  you  know,  do  not  strike  any  two 
people  in  just  the  same  way.  Much  depends 
upon  the  occasion  to  make  a  playful  turn 
of  words  effective,  especially  to  an  audience. 
For  instance,  last  year  in  Flint,  Michigan,  I 
gave  vent  to  a  spontaneous  remark  that 
elicited  more  applause  than  anything  else  I 
said  during  the  evening.  Just  as  I  was 
approaching  the  footlights  to  begin  my  mono 
logue,  the  electric  lights  went  out  and  left 
the  house  in  total  darkness.  Pausing  a  few 
seconds  for  the  return  of  the  light  which  very 
dismalh'  failed  to  give  us  illumination,  I  said  : 
'  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  is  a  terrible  pre 
dicament  for  me.  I  fear  you  will  be  unable 
to  see  my  jokes.'  But  the  audience  very 
promptly  saw  that  one,  and  gave  me  a  warm 


First  published  in  Truth. 

308 


Wilder'  '  s 


welcome.  Before  they  had  finished  their 
handclapping-  and  laughter,  the  electric  lights 
again  were  all  in  harmonious  operation. 

'  '  Speaking  of  the  difference  between  Eng 
lish  and  American  humor,  here  is  an  anecdote 
which  perfectly  illustrates  it.  An  English 
man,  a  new  arrival  in  New  York,  meets  an 
American  friend  on  the  street,  and  says  : 
'  How  do  you  feel,  old  chap?  '  '  Out  of  sight,' 
replies  the  American.  '  And  what  may  that 
really  mean,  y'  know?1  inquires  the  puzzled 
Britisher.  The  American  enters  into  a 
labored  explanation  of  the  cis-  Atlantic  idiom, 
whereupon  the  gentleman  from  London,  still 
somewhat  puzzled,  but  evidently  satisfied,  ex 
claims  :  'Very  droll  and  clevah,  don't  y' 
know.'  A  few  days  later  some  one  asks  the 
Englishman  how  he  feels,  by  way  of  greeting, 
and  this  is  his  response  :  '  Pon  my  word,  old 
chap,  you  cawn't  see  me,  y'  know.'  ' 

"But,  after  all/'  continued  Mr.  Wilder, 
''the  English  are  very  loyal  to  their  friends. 
Eortunately,  in  England  I  have  a  number  of 
admirers.  When  I  was  over  there  last,  I  met 
one  of  them  who  said  to  me  in  a  most  confi 
dential  way:  '  Mr.  Wilder,  those  were  very 
funny  things  you  told  us  last  year.  '  You  see, 
it  takes  about  a  year  for  a  good  American  joke 
3°9 


The  Bo~M-Leggcd  Ghost 

or  anecdote  to  germinate  in  English  soil,   and 
bear  any  kind  of  fruit." 

At  this  point,  I  asked  him  whence  he  derived 
his  best-appreciated  jokes.  Mr.  Wilder,  after 
a  thoughtful  pause,  replied:  "From  every 
day  life.  To  illustrate:  I  saw  two  Irishmen 
on  a  Broadway  cable  car  yesterday.  One  says 
to  the  other,  '  Mike,  your  clothes  look  prutty 
tough  and  seed}'.  Why  don't  you  get  a  dacent 
suit  of  clothes?'  '  Well,'  answers  Mike,  with 
an  air  of  pompous  confidence  in  his  explana 
tion,  '  there's  not  a  tailor  in  Harlem  that  kin 
measure  me,  I'm  that  ticklish.' 

"Another  illustration  —  One  Irishman:  'I 
hear  you've  had  the  grip  bad.'  Another  Irish 
man:  '  Yis,  about  a  month  ago.'  'Ah,  Pat, 
the  grip  is  a  terrible  disease.  It's  the  only 
thing  you're  sick  with  after  you're  well.' 

"  The  following  is  a  fresh  anecdote:  An  old 
farmer  was  engaged  in  shearing  a  sheep  from 
the  tail  toward  the  head,  when  a  neighbor  hap 
pened  along,  and  observing  the  unique  process 
of  shearing  exclaimed:  '  Hallo,  John,  you're 
doin'  that  all  wrong.  You  oughter  commence 
at  the  head  and  go  tail  'ards.'  '  Well,  Zeky,' 
replied  the  farmer  apologetically,  '  the  fact  is, 
sence  I  voted  the  Democratic  ticket  I  aint 
had  the  narve  to  look  a  sheep  in  the  face. ' 
310 


Wilder "s  Latest 

"  An  Irishman  with  only  one  leg  was  going 
along  the  street,  when  he  met  a  friend  of  his 
o\vn  nationality.  'What,'  .says  the  friend, 
'  you've  lost  a  leg,  eh?'  '  Yes,'  said  the  other 
despondently.  'Well,'  observed  the  friend, 
'my  poor  man,  you  won't  miss  it  these  hard 
times.' 

"  Here  is  another  cable  car  incident  that  I 
witnessed  recently  :  A  man  was  indulging  in 
profanity  in  the  car  when  there  entered  a  lady 
and  her  husband.  The  latter  taking  umbrage 
at  the  blasphemer  said  :  '  See  here,  you 
musn't  swear  before  my  wife.'  Whereupon 
the  blasphemer  answered  :  '  Excuse  me,  I 
didn't  know  your  wife  wanted  to  swear.' 

' '  This  is  a  pretty  good  one :  A  young 
darkey  indulging  in  hitting  his  thumb  with  a 
hammer  every  few  seconds  was  asked  w7hat  he 
was  doing  that  for.  His  philosophical  reply 
was  :  '  Kase  it  feels  so  good  when  I  stop. ' 

"  Here  is  another :  A  man  \vas  carrying  a 
disreputable-looking  dog  into  an  express  office 
wrhen  an  inquisitive  policeman  asked  where 
the  canine  was  bound  for.  Promptly  came 
the  answer  :  '  He  don't  know  and  I'm  d — 
if  I  do.  He's  chewed  up  his  tag.'  ' 

Mr.  Wilder 's  concluding  story,  before  re 
ceiving  another  visitor,  he  attributed  to  Mr. 


TJic  J3o~i'- Legged  Ghost 

Henry  E.  Dixey,  and  related  substantially  as 
follows:  "Several  old  chaps  were  sitting 
around  the  big  stove  in  a  rural  bar-room,  tell 
ing  stories  and  so  on,  when  another  old  chap 
of  much  the  same  type  as  themselves  hobbled 
in.  Seeing  no  vacant  chair  he  finally  com 
missioned  the  pudgy  landlord  to  give  his  horse 
in  the  shed  a  dozen  oysters  on  the  half -shell. 
The  landlord  made  haste  to  obey  the  curious 
order,  and  the  other  half-dozen  old  codgers 
rose  en  masse  and  passed  out  of  the  room  to 
witness  the  unheard-of  exhibition.  In  the 
meantime  the  old  fellow  who  had  given  the 
unusual  order  planted  himself  in  the  most 
comfortable  chair  in  front  of  the  stove  and 
was  pleasantly  meditating,  when  the  old  chaps 
returned,  preceded  by  the  landlord,  who  said  : 
'Your  horse  won't  eat  them  oysters,  boss.' 
1  Well,  bring  them  to  me  then,'  said  the 
stranger,  relapsing  into  his  cheerful  reverie, 
unmindful  of  the  senile  worthies  of  the  village 
who  w?ere  returning  to  the  warmth  of  the 
stove  to  find  one  of  the  chairs  fully  occupied." 


Happy  Hopper 


the  frisky  and  versatile  come- 
dian,  Mr.  DeWolf  Hopper,  few  authentic 
and  amusing  stories  are  current. 

'  '  The  only  time  I  ever  saw  Hopper  at  a  loss 
for  words  was  in  Albany,"  says  J.  Cheever 
Goodwin:  "I  had  joined  him  for  a  day  or 
two,  and  was  to  leave  for  New  York  at  the 
preposterous  hour  of  four  in  the  morning. 
Our  business  seance  finished,  it  seemed  absurd 
to  go  to  bed  merely  to  get  up  an  hour  or  two 
later,  so  a  little  game  was  proposed  and 
started.  Somewrhere  about  3  A.  M.,  the  unan 
imous  longing  for  liquid  refreshments  was 
voiced.  '  But  you  can't  get  anything  at  this 
unearthly  hour,'  some  one  declared.  '  Leave 
that  to  me,'  said  Hopper,  as  he  pressed  the 
electric  button. 

"A  sable  servitor  yawningly  appeared. 
'Uncle,'  inquired  Hopper  in  his  suavest 
tones,  '  who  is  at  the  desk  to-night?  ' 

"  '  Mr.  Campbell,  sari,'  was  the  quiet  reply. 

First  published  in  Truth. 

313 


The  Bow- Legged  Ghost 

> 

"'Very   good,   I   want   you  to  present  my 

compliments  to  Mr.  Campbell  and  inform  him 
that  Mr.  Hopper  —  Mr.  DeWolf  Hopper  — 
will  feel  under  many  and  lasting  obligations 
if  he  will  assist  in  the  rescue  of  several  gen 
tlemen's  lives  by  purveying  to  them  a  trifle  of 
the  essence  of  the  vine,  or  rather  of  the  grain. 
I  mean  we  would  like  something  to  drink, 
if  anything  is  to  be  had.  You  understand? 
But  be  sure  you  get  the  name  right.  Hop 
per —  DeWolf  Hopper.' 

"  '  All  right,  sah.  I  knows  you  name 
easy.'  The  menial  withdrew,  and  the  game 
was  resumed. 

"'Boys,'  said  Hopper,  after  a  little,  'I 
don't  say  this  in  any  egotistical  spirit, — far 
from  it, — but  it  is  strange  how  powerful  a 
mere  name  is,  in  cases  like  this  —  even  one  so 
humble  as  my  own.' 

"Twenty  minutes  elapsed,  during  which 
time  the  game  had  engrossed  our  atten 
tion,  and  again  the  topic  of  drinks  was  re 
newed. 

"  '  I  said  all  the  while  you  couldn't  get  any 
thing  at  this  time  of  night,'  said  Hopper's 
alert  manager.  Whilst  I  ventured  that  — 
'  Mr.  Campbell  evidently  did  not  recognize  the 
name/ 

314 


Happy  Hopper 

"  '  Maybe  the  colored  man  has  gone  to  sleep 
on  his  way  down  stairs,'  suggested  another. 

"  '  He  is  a  little  dilatory,  I  admit,'  said 
Hopper,  '  but  give  him  ten  minutes  more. ' 

"  We  gave  him  twenty,  and  had  surrendered 
all  hope  of  ever  seeing  him  again,  when  sud 
denly  he  entered,  bringing  the  called-for  bev 
erages. 

"'Now,'  exclaimed  Hopper,  'what  apol 
ogies  do  you  doubting  Thomases  propose  to 
make?  You'll  admit,  won't  you,  that  there 
is  something  in  a  name,  even  if  it's  merely 
mine  ? ' 

"'What  kept  you  so  long,  Uncle?  Mr. 
Campbell  asleep? ' 

"'I  don't  know,  sah,'  replied  the  Ethio 
pian,  honestly.  '  I  didn't  bodder  myself  wid 
no  Mr.  Campbell.  Dere's  only  one  place  in 
Albany  where  you  can  get  any  drinks  at  dis 
o'clock,  and  dat's  way  down  'long  de  river 
front,  so  I  went  dere.  Dey  wasn't  goin'  to 
give  it  to  me  at  fust,  but  I  done  tole  'em  it 
was  for  Mr.  Wolfe,  de  Copper,  an'  I  got  a 
pint  for  nuthin'.' 

"Everybody  roared,  and  now  if  you  ask 
Hopper  if  there  isn't  a  good  deal  in  a  name  he 
is  apt  to  direct  the  conversation  to  the  tariff 
or  some  other  entirely  frivolous  subject. 


Tlic  13 oiv -Legged  Ghost 

"  I  don't  know,"  continued  Goodwin,  "  that 
Hopper  has  discarded  all  his  superstitions,  but 
there  is  one  in  which  he,  John  W.  Kinney, 
and  myself  have  no  more  confidence. 

"  It  came  about  during  a  little  excursion  we 
three  made  from  Washington  to  a  noted  resort 
for  dinner  parties  in  the  suburbs  of  George 
town.  The  colored  waiter  who  served  us  at 
table  with  evident  interest  in  Mr.  Hopper's 
welfare,  approached  smilingly  as  we  were 
about  to  leave  the  place.  What  he  wanted  to 
do  and  finally  managed  to  do,  after  many  pro 
fuse  declarations  of  admiration,  was  to  present 
Hopper  with  a  mascot  in  the  shape  of  the  left 
hind  foot  of  a  lame  rabbit  that  had  been  shot 
with  a  silver  bullet  by  a  cross-eyed  negro 
standing  on  the  grave  of  a  suicide  at  midnight 
on  Friday,  the  i3th  of  the  month,  the  full 
moon  shining  over  his  (the  negro's)  left 
shoulder.  It  was  accepted  with  thanks  and 
a  liberal  after-tip  given,  and  we  started  for 
Washington  and  the  evening  performance. 

"  '  Boys  '  said  Hopper,  '  I  am  not  generally 
superstitious  ;  but  I  am  absolutely  convinced 
that  this  rabbit's  foot  means  luck,  and  I 
wouldn't  part  with  it  for  all  the  world.  The 
evident  honesty  of  the  giver,  his  unselfishness 
in  parting  with  an  object  so  dearly  prized,  the 
316 


Happy  Hopper 

curious  combination  of  circumstances  attend 
ing  its  capture  —  all  go  to  show  that  there  is 
something  in  store  for  us.' 

' '  And  there  was.  For,  before  he  had  fin 
ished  his  remarks,  a  hind  wheel  came  off  our 
vehicle.  When  we  had  got  enough  Virginia 
mud  out  of  our  eyes  to  see  somewhat  clearly, 
and  had  found  that  no  bones  had  been  broken, 
Hopper  resumed  :  '  As  I  was  saying,  boys,  I 
consider  any  one  who  caters  to  the  supersti 
tions  which  still  link  enlightened  humanity  to 
its  ignorant  past  guilty  of  a  crime.  Conse 
quently  —  exit  Mr.  Rabbit's  foot  ! ' 

"Whereupon  he  threw  the  singular  trophy 
into  the  placid  Potomac,  and  then  —  well,  we 
walked  some  two  miles  through  the  mud  to 
the  nearest  horse-car  line.  But  just  the  same, 
DeWolf  Hopper  doesn't  carry  a  rabbit's  foot 
either  in  his  theatre  or  in  his  hotel  trunk. ' ' 


Selling  Locks  of  Hair 

is  business?"  asked  the  newspaper 
man,  as  he  took  his  seat  in  a  barber's 
chair  to  have  a  three-days-old  stub 
ble  of  beard  removed  from  his  face.  The 
little  man  addressed  happened  to  be  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  shop,  which  is  in  one  of  New 
York's  swellest  hotels. 

"Oh,"  replied  the  tonsorial  artist,  as  he  be 
gan  to  lather  the  scribe's  countenance,  "it's 
pretty  fair,  but  it's  going  to  be  better  for  me 
in  a  little  while.  I've  got  a  splendid  scheme 
for  raking  in  a  good  many  cold  dollars,  and  I 
intend  to  wrork  it  for  all  it's  worth." 

' '  What  is  the  scheme  ? ' '  asked  the  news 
paper  man  innocently.  "  Will  it  require  a  syn 
dicate  to  boom  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  boss  of  the  shop,  with 
an  almost  disdainful  shrug  of  his  shoulders  ; 
"  I'm  my  own  syndicate  in  this  scheme,  which 
I've  had  in  mind  for  a  long  time.  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  what  it  is.  I  am  going  to 
318 


Selling  Locks  of  Hair 

open  in  connection  with  this  shop  a  line  of 
business  that  I  believe  has  never  before  been 
attempted.  I  shall  keep  a  large  stock  of  locks 
of  hair  cut  from  the  heads  of  distinguished 
customers,  also  parts  of  moustaches  grown  on 
the  upper  lips  of  great  men  who  come  here  to 
be  barbered." 

"A  novel  and  beautiful  idea,"  murmured 
the  newspaper  man. 

' '  Yes, ' '  continued  the  confiding  barber,  as 
his  razor  began  to  glide  down  the  left  cheek 
of  his  motionless  auditor;  "I  have  been  sav 
ing  choice  locks  of  hair  from  the  heads  of  big 
guns  for  over  a  year,  and  you  would  be  sur 
prised  at  my  collection.  You  see,  I  have  in 
structed  my  eight  men  to  save  the  hair  of  every 
famous  man  they  get  a  chance  to  use  the  scis 
sors  on.  At  odd  times  we  take  these  locks  of 
hair,  tie  a  bright  ribbon  around  them,  label 
them  with  the  name  of  the  man  on  whose  head 
the  hair  grew,  and  then  wrap  them  up 
neatly  in  tissue  paper  and  lay  them  away.  I 
have  over  a  thousand  locks  of  hair,  and  I  am 
getting  more  every  day,  for  there's  never  a 
day  passes  that  there  are  less  than  three 
celebrities  come  in  here." 

' '  What  suggested  this  idea  to  you  ? ' '  was 
asked. 

319 


The  Bo^v-Lcggcd  Ghost 

"  Well,  a  year  ago  last  fall  the  Knights  of 
the  Razor,  a  protective  organization  to  which 
I  belong,  gave  a  ball.  I  was  on  the  Recep 
tion  Committee,  and  among  those  I  got  ac 
quainted  with  for  the  first  time  was  a  Miss 
Anna  Ridley,  a  beautiful  young  heiress,  whose 
home  is  in  Connecticut.  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  taking  her  to  supper.  After  we  had  eaten, 
we  went  back  to  the  dancing-hall,  and  were 
promenading  like  a  hundred  other  couples, 
\vhen  Miss  Ridley  looked  up  in  my  face  and 

asked  :   '  Mr.  ,   where  is  your  shop? '     I 

told  her  in  what  hotel  I  had  my  shop.  Then 
she  asked  :  '  Tell  me,  does—  —  [and  she  men 
tioned  a  famous  writer]  ever  patronize  you  ? ' 
Sometimes,  I  said,  he  did  —  when  he  wras  in 

the  city.      'Oh,  Mr.  ,'  says  she,  'I  want 

you  to  do  me  a  favor.  I  dote  on  him  and  his 
books.  Promise  me  that  the  next  time  he 
comes  into  your  shop  to  get  his  hair  trimmed 
you  will  save  a  lock  of  it  and  send  it  to  me.' 
I  promised  her  that  I  would  do  so.  It  was 
over  six  months  before  the  gentleman  came 
in,  and  during  that  time  the  young  lady  wrote 
me  twice  not  to  forget  what  I  had  promised 
her.  One  afternoon  the  writer  came  in.  He 
preferred  me  to  any  of  the  assistants,  and  or 
dered  me  to  trim  his  hair  a  very  little  around 
320 


Selling  Locks  of  Hair 

the  edges.  I  managed  to  clip  out  a  nice  fat 
lock  and  slip  it  into  a  drawer  without  his  notic 
ing  it.  The  same  evening  I  mailed  the  lock 
of  hair  to  Miss  Ridley.  Three  days  later  I 
got  a  letter  containing  a  check  for  $25,  which 
she  begged  me  to  accept  as  a  small  return 
for  my  trouble.  That  is  how  the  scheme 
originated  with  me,"  concluded  the  barber, 
as  he  dashed  some  magnesia  powder  on  the 
listener's  face. 

The  newspaper  man  being  interested  in  the 
newr  enterprise,  and  wishing  to  learn  some  fur 
ther  particulars  concerning  it,  said  he  guessed 
he  would  have  his  hair  cut.  ' '  But, ' '  he  added, 
with  rather  a  pretty  smile,  "don't  save  a  lock 
of  my  hair  to  sell." 

The  barber  laughed  at  this  sally,  as  he 
reached  for  his  scissors. 

' '  You  are  really  indebted  to  the  Connecticut 
heiress  for  the  idea?  And  are  you  certain 
that  other  young  ladies  will  be  equally  anx 
ious  to  gain  possession  of  some  of  your  capil- 
laceous  souvenirs?  " 

' '  You  mean  locks  of  hair,  I  suppose.  Yes, 
I  think  young  ladies  will  be  my  principal 
buyers. ' ' 

' '  How  do  you   propose  to  introduce  your 
wares  before  the  public?" 
321 


The  Bo'W-Lcgged  Ghost 

1 '  By  means  of  circulars  at  first.  If  the 
business  proves  a  success,  I  shall  advertise  ex 
tensively  in  the  papers.  The  other  day  I 
wrote  down  about  what  I  want  the  circular 
to  say.  I  will  show  it  to  you." 

The  boss  of  the  shop  opened  a  drawer  and 
took  therefrom  a  sheet  of  paper,  which  he 
handed  to  the  newspaper  man,  who  read  to 
himself  the  following  :  — 

HOTEL,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 

I,  Mr. ,  the  proprietor  and  manager  of  the  ton- 

sorial  parlors  connected  with  the  above-mentioned 
hotel,  am  about  to  offer  for  sale  a  large  stock  of  locks 
of  hair  and  moustache  wisps,  taken  from  the  heads 
and  upper  lips  of  the  most  eminent  statesmen,  scien 
tists,  actors,  poets,  journalists,  painters,  etc.,  etc.,  of 
the  age.  This  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  where 
these  precious  keepsakes,  every  one  of  which  is  war 
ranted  to  be  genuine,  can  be  found.  Here  are  the 
names  of  a  few  of  the  gentlemen  from  whom  locks  of 
hair  have  been  procured,  and  which  will  be  sold  :  — 

N.  B. — These  locks  the  gentlemen  mentioned  are 
not  aware  that  I  possess. 

Henry  Clews,  Joseph  Howard, 

Herman  Oelrichs,  Theodore  Roosevelt, 

William  Winter,  Elbridge  T.  Gerry, 

Cornelius  Vanderbilt,  Frederick  Gebhard, 

E.  Berry  Wall,  George  J.  Gould, 

W.  R.  Hearst,  Joel  Benton, 

M.  P.  Wilder,  Bishop  Potter, 
322 


Selling  Locks  of  Hair 

Buffalo  Bill,  Thomas  P.  Ochiltree, 

John  Jacob  Astor,  Chauncey  M.  Depew, 

James  Gordon  Bennett,  Maurice  Barrymore, 

John  Philip  Sousa,  Reginald  De  Koven, 

Russell  Sage,  Ollie  Sumner  Teale. 

Besides  the  above,  a  thousand  other  gentlemen 
might  be  named,  from  whom  locks  and  parts  of  or 
entire  moustaches  have  been  procured.  Ladies,  here 
is  a  grand  opportunity  to  purchase  a  sentimental  token 
at  a  bargain.  This  stock  will  sell  like  hot  cakes  and 
if  you  would  be  in  time  to  make  the  selection  you 
want,  you  must  come  early.  You  will  be  cordially 
waited  upon,  either  by  myself  or  my  assistants. 

Having  in  wonder  perused  the  circular,  the 
newspaper  man  ventured  to  ask  if  the  barber 
were  not  afraid  he  would  make  some  of  his 
steady  customers  mad  by  trying  to  sell  their 
hair. 

' '  Oh,  I  guess  not, ' '  was  the  response.  ' '  Most 
of  them  will  be  tickled  to  learn  that  anybody 
thinks  enough  of  them  to  come  and  buy  what 
they  pay  to  get  rid  of.  If  any  of  the  gentle 
men  kick  because  I  sell  their  hair,  I'll  offer  to 
divide  profits  with  them  —  that  is,  with  some 
of  them." 

"  What  will  you  charge  for  a  lock  of  hair?  " 

1 '  That  will  depend  upon  how  much  the 
buyer  wants  it.  I  have  made  no  schedule  of 
prices  thus  far.  I  expect  to  get  the  highest 
323 


The  h 'o-c- Legged  Ghost 

prices  for  moustaches,  and  most  of  the  buyers, 
as  I  said  before,  will  be  young,  unmarried 
ladies. ' ' 

"How  do  you  intend  to  distribute  your 
circulars?  " 

"  I  thought  of  getting  a  blue  book,  and 
addressing  my  circulars  to  the  ladies  whose 
names  are  in  it.  Then  I  shall  get  other  names 
from  reading  suburban  correspondence  in  the 
city  papers.  I  shall  probably  distribute  all  of 
fifty  thousand  circulars." 

"  When  do  you  open  this  new  department?" 

' '  Xot  before  fall.  I  had  thought  I  would 
open  this  month,  but  every  one  is  getting 
ready  to  go  away  for  the  summer,  and  I  have 
concluded  that  it  will  be  better* to  wait,  now, 
until  October,  to  open.  I  desire  to  get  the 
moustaches  of  several  society  actors  who  shave 
their  upper  lips  in  hot  weather,  and,  with  that 
addition  to  my  stock,  I  shall  be  in  a  prett}' 
fair  way  to  do  a  thriving  business  next  sea 
son." 

' '  How  will  you  obtain  the  moustaches  of 
these  society  actors  you  speak  of  ?  " 

"By   writing  to  them,   as    I    have   already 

done  to  several.     I  offer  them  $10  apiece  for 

the  privilege  of  taking  off  their  moustaches, 

which    I    tell    them    I    wish    to    mount   on    a 

324 


Selling  Locks  of  Hair 

piece  of  cardboard,  label,  and  hang  up  in 
my  shop  as  an  advertisement.  The  ten  dol 
lar  proposition  appeals  to  them,  I  notice." 

' '  Now, ' '  pursued  the  scribe,  ' '  young  men 
are  nearly  as  sentimental  as  young  women. 
Why  wouldn'  t  it  be  a  good  idea  to  procure 
locks  of  ladies'  hair  to  sell  to  young  men?  " 

"I've  arranged  to  do  that,  too,"  said  the 
barber,  in  a  tone  of  delicious  suavity.  "  I 
have  made  out  a  list  of  the  women  to  whom  I 
shall  write  openly  for  locks  of  their  hair.  Most 
of  them,  of  course,  are  actresses,  who  will  be 
glad  to  oblige  me  if  they  see  any  advantage  in 
the  way  of  free  advertising  to  themselves. 
The  female  hair  will  be  placed  in  a  separate 
showcase,  and  every  lock  will  have  its  admir 
ers,  because  I  shall  be  very  fastidious  in  my 
selection." 

At  this  instant  the  barber  shouted  "Next," 
and  the  dazed  newspaper  man  threw  half  a 
dollar  down  and  staggered  out  into  the  fresh 
air  —  which  he  needed. 


325 


The  Perfected  Phonograph 

newspapers,  say  fifty  years  hence,  will 
contain    some  very   interesting   reading 
anent  phonograph  entertainments.    The 
following  are  examples  of  what  may  be  seen 
in  the  public  prints,  A.  D.  1950:  — 

The  Grand  Phonographic  Tournament 
opened  auspiciously  yesterday  morning  at  the 
new  Gotham  Opera  House.  It  is  estimated 
that  five  thousand  people  were  present  to  hear 
the  first  phonograph  reproduce  an  oration 
just  as  it  was  delivered  in  1898  by  one  Robert 
G.  Ingersoll,  a  pagan,  who  in  his  day  was 
considered  something  of  a  Demosthenes.  The 
discourse,  which  could  be  heard  in  every  part 
of  the  vast  auditorium,  lasted  for  about  an 
hour. 


During  the  present  week  some  eight  hun 
dred  phonographs  will  let  out  the  mighty  se 
crets  which  they  have  kept  for  fifty  or  sixty 
years.     It  is  estimated  that  the  cost  of  secur- 
326 


Tlic   Perfected   Phonograph 

ing  this  unsurpassed  collection  of  machines 
has  amounted  to  over  $30,000,000.  About 
one  hundred  of  them  have  no  duplicates  in 
existence,  and  on  that  account  are  deemed 
much  more  valuable.  The  phonograph  con 
taining  the  words  uttered  by  Grover  Cleveland, 
upon  being  informed  that  he  was  reflected  to 
the  presidency  in  1888,  and  which  will  be  re 
produced  to-morrow  evening,  is  said  to  have 
cost  $8,000. 


Phonograph  No.  2  reproduced  an  interview 
between  an  actress  named  Rose  Coghlan  and 
a  saleslady  in  a  large  mercantile  house  in  this 
city,  in  the  year  1899.  Portions  of  the 
conversation  were  intensely  amusing,  and 
threw  considerable  light  upon  the  manner  in 
which  our  grandmothers  used  to  do  their 
shopping.  According  to  the  machine,  Miss 
Coghlan  desired  to  purchase  half  a  yard  of 
pale  blue  ribbon,  but  went  away  unsuited 
after  half  an  hour's  discussion  with  the  sales 
lady. 


At  last  evening's  session  five  phonographs 
gave  up  their  historical  sound  treasures.  The 
first  phonograph  reproduced  four  airs  from  a 
hand  organ,  the  instrument  that  was  abol- 

3--»h- 
-/ 


The  Bo~jv-Lcg~gcd  Gliost 

ished  by  law  in  the  first  decade  of  the  twen 
tieth  century.  \Ve  should  be  thankful  that 
we  do  not  live  in  the  age  of  hand  organs. 
The  second  machine  reproduced  a  poem  by 
Ambrose  Bierce,  read  at  the  marriage  feast  of 
Ada  Rehan,  a  distinguished  American  actress 
fifty  or  more  years  ago,  who  finally  gave  up 
the  stage  to  became  the  wife  of  a  prosaic  New 
York  tradesman.  The  literary  world  of  to-day 
has  at  last  become  aware  of  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Bierce  wrote  good  poetry  and  made  it  better 
by  reading  it  aloud  on  festal  occasions,  in  the 
manner  of  the  Greek  bards. 

The  audience  was  greatly  interested  in  the 
revelation  of  the  next  phonograph  that  was 
' '  let  off. ' '  It  repeated  word  for  word  a  lecture 
by  the  famous  ' '  Buffalo  Bill ' ''  on  "  How  I  beat 
Al.  with  a  pair  of  sixes."  The  discourse  was 
entirely  confined  to  the  description  of  an 
exciting  game  of  poker  between  B.  B.  and  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  who  afterwards,  when  he 
had  been  King  of  England  only  a  few  days, 
expired  of  old  age.  The  crowning  triumph, 
though,  of  yesterday's  Grand  Phonographic 
Tournament  was  reached  when  the  fourth 
instrument  began  reproducing  what  was  said 
by  two  ladies  at  a  reception  in  Chicago  regard 
ing  a  novel  entitled,  "The  Quick  or  the 
328 


77ec  Perfected  Phonograph 

Dead,''  published  in  1888.  The  author,  Pro 
fessor  Kidd  explained,,  was  a  young  girl 
named  Amelie  Rives,  who,  soon  after  her 
story  appeared,  married  a  wealthy  New 
Yorker,  and  was  so  pleased  with  matrimony 
that  she  tried  it  again  with  a  foreign  noble 
man,  a  divorce  from  her  first  husband  having 
been  procured.  Judging  from  what  the  two 
ladies  at  the  reception  said  about  the  story,  it 
must  have  been  tolerably  racy.  The  audience 
was  kept  in  a  perfect  roar  over  it. 

To-morrow  some  curious  historical  sound- 
treasures  will  be  reproduced,  among  which 
wTill  be  included  the  version  which  General 
B.  F.  Butler,  in  1892,  confidentially  gave  to  a 
friend  of  the  sacking  of  New  Orleans  during 
the  great  Civil  War.  Neither  of  the  gentle 
men  knew  that  a  phonograph  was  ' '  taking 
it  all  in."  Other  sound  reminiscences  of 
great  value  and  interest  wall  be  heard  to- 
morrow.  Tickets  for  the  whole  week  come 
rather  high  at  $1,000  apiece,  but  all  the  best 
people  of  the  city  must  have  them.  Tickets 
for  the  day  and  evening  go  off  like  hot 
cakes  at  $150  each.  On  Friday  the  $20,000 
phonograph  will  reproduce  the  dying  words 
of  the  once  great  John  L,.  Sullivan. 


Deacon  Updyke's  Annual  Report 

Wf AST  Tuesday  evening,  the  Board  of  Trust- 
cJ^I     ees  of  the  People's  Church,  of  Pleasant 

C^JxS 

Centre,  held  their  annual  meeting,  and 
Deacon  Updyke,  the  treasurer,  submitted  his 
report,  prefaced  by  the  following  eloquent 
remarks  : 

"Well,  brethren,  I  don't  know's  there's 
much  unusual  to  report  this  year,  'cept  one 
thing,  which  I  desire  to  dwell  on  a  leedle,  be 
cause  it  desarves  your  ripe  attention,  an'  we 
oughter  take  some  radical  action  on't.  It's 
kindy  kep'  me  awake  fur  the  las'  few  nights 
tryin'  to  determine  on  the  best  way  to  settle 
up  the  matter,  because  we  don't  want  any 
split  in  our  congregation,  or  do  anything 
that's  likely  to  rile  up  our  members.  Um-m. 

"  Of  course,  we're  all  more  or  less  'quainted 
with  Squire  Willoughby,  who  lives  up  Hawk 
ins's  Holler  Way.  I've  allus  found  the  Squire 
a  good,  substantial  Christian  citizen  ;  a  man 
who  allus  paid  his  taxes,  an'  his  honest  debts, 
an'  a  fust-rate  farmer.  He's  brought  up  a 
33° 


Deacon  Updyke1  s  Annual  Report 

nice  family,  with  one  exception,  an'  I  s'pose 
his  property  all  told  would  foot  up  a  clean 
$15,000.  'Tany  rate,  he  is  one  of  the  richest 
men  in  this  section. 

"  You  all  rec'lec',  I  guess,  that  Eddie  Wil- 
loughby,  the  youngest  boy,  went  off  to  the 
Pike's  Corners  Sem'nary  a  year  ago  last  fall. 
He  come  home  for  the  holidays,  an'  it  was 
obsarved  that  he  was  gittin'  his  eddication 
purty  fast.  He  wore  a  suit  of  checked  store 
clothes,  a  high  starched  collar  that  completely 
hid  the  lower  part  of  his  ears,  a  fiery  red 
necktie,  a  big  link  watch  chain,  an'  so  filth. 
Esther  Gridley,  the  school  marm,  tole  my 
wife  that  she  had  heerd  he  smoked  them  ere 
little  cigars  with  paper  wrappers,  on  the'  sly. 
Um-m.  It  was  durin'  that  vacation  that  he 
tuk  one  o'  Bill  Peake's  darters  out  a  sleigh- 
ridin',  with  a  pair  o'  bay  colts  his  father' d 
jest  broke  to  harness,  an'  druv  'em  so  hard 
that  the  off  un  died  frum  the  effects. 

"When  the  Sem'nary  let  out  last  June, 
Eddie  come  hum  agin.  He  put  on  a  good 
many  airs,  an'  seemed  to  have  a  high  'pinion 
o'  his  importance.  Well,  the  secont  Sabbath, 
I  think  it  was,  arter  he  got  hum,  some  o'  the 
Squire's  folks  come  to  church,  arrivin'  jest  as 
Sexton  Ruggles  was  a-ringin'  the  last  bell. 
33 1 


TJie  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

The  Squire  was  laid  up  with  rheumatiz  and 
couldn't  get  out,  but  Mrs.  Willoughby  come, 
an'  also  her  married  darter,  Mrs.  John  Twick- 
ens.  They  sot  on  the  back  seat  of  the  wagon  ; 
on  the  middle  seat  was  Harriet  and  Salina 
Willoughby,  an'  Eddie  sot  on  the  front  seat, 
with  Jake  Botts,  the  hired  man,  who  druv. 
He  brought  the  team  into  the  yard  at  a  purty 
good  lick,  an'  stopped  by  the  horse  block. 
Um-m.  Eddie  helped  the  women  folks  outen 
the  wagon,  an'  he  was  what  you'd  term  very 
elegant  'bout  it.  Jake  druv  on  to  the  shed, 
the  women  went  on  in  church,  sayin'  good- 
mornin'  to  me  pleasantly  as  they  passed,  an' 
Eddie  stayed  outside.  He  was  standin'  there 
when  I  left  him.  I  asked  him  how  he  liked 
his  school,  an'  he  replied,  '  Bang  up,  Mr.  Up- 
dyke.  It's  a  jim  dandy,  Esquire.'  What  that 
meant  I  didn't  inquire,  but  I  s'pose  it  was 
some  hifalutin'  phrase  he'd  picked  up  at  the 
Sem'nary.  Then  he  begun  whistlin'  a  rapid 
tune  I'd  never  heerd  before,  but  I  thought  it 
wa'n't  in  keepin'  with  the  sacredness  of  the 
Sabbath.  Um-m.  He  acted  jest  as  'f  he  had 
half  a  notion  to  dance  a  break-down  right 
there  and  then. ' ' 

"  Dreadful,"  drawled  one  of  the  trustees. 

"'Bout  ten   minutes  later,"   continued   the 


Deacon   Updykc' s   Annual  Report 

Deacon,  with  a  good  deal  of  gesticulating, 
"nearly  ev'ry  one  was  in  their  seats  when 
Eddie  come  down  the  left-hand  aisle,  on  his 
way  to  the  Willoughby  pew,  which,  as  you 
know,  is  the  third  one  from  the  front,  in  the 
middle  section.  He  had  a  cane,  big  'nough  for 
a  club,  which  he  was  swingin'  round,  like  a 
drum  major.  It  didn't  look  well,  'specially 
fur  a  young  man  with  his  advantages  to  learn 
manners.  I  can  only  account  fur  it  by  the  fact 
that  he  is  young  an'  thoughtless.  Um-m. 

"Well,  as  he  walked  along,  his  revolvin' 
cane  come  in  contact  with  a  glass  lamp  in  the 
chandelier.  The  slaiitin'  blow  broke  the  chimb- 
ley  an'  lamp,  the  pieces  fallin'  in  ev'ry  direc 
tion,  an'  the  ile  droppin'  down  on  the  carpet, 
an'  spatterin'  over  the  cushioned  back  an'  seat 
of  the  widow  Becker's  pew,  an'  drops  got  on 
Mrs.  Ike  Twombley's  lavender  lace  shawl  and 
ruined  it.  The  ile  jest  sp'iled  Susie  Coul- 
dock's  brown  satin  dress,  an'  someo'  it  splashed 
on  Dr.  Biddle's  shirt  front  an'  white  vest. 
Um-m.  Some  o'  you  was  there  at  the  time, 
an'  you  know  what  a  commotion  it  produced. 
Dominie  Hardcrust  had  jest  finished  readin' 
the  fust  hymn,  an'  he  said:  '  L,et  the  congre 
gation  remain  seated;  it  ain't  an  earthquake.' 
Eddie  blushed  as  red  as  his  necktie  an'  apoler- 

333 


The  Boiv-Lcgged  Ghost 

gized  something,  as  he  went  on  to  the  family 
pew.  Some  o'  the  women  tittered  an'  whis 
pered  to  each  other,  while  Mrs.  Becker  looked 
a  good  deal  put  out  —  an'  nobody  could  blame 
her.  Mr.  Ruggles  come  an'  picked  up  the 
broken  glass,  an'  the  choir  begun  singin'. 
Um-m. 

"  Folks  ain't  got  through  talkin'  over  this 
caper  of  Eddie  Willoughby's  yit.  I've  ben 
tole  the  Squire  was  very  mad  when  he  heerd 
'bout  it,  an'  come  nigh  trouncin'  Eddie  with  a 
strap.  He  threatened,  too,  not  to  let  him  go 
back  to  the  Sem'nary  last  fall,  an'  he'd  a-stayed 
hum  if  it  hadn't  ben  fur  his  mother  an'  sisters. 
Um-m. 

' '  I  have  wrent  into  the  details  of  the  case 
fur  the  puppus  of  showin'  that  no  one  was  to 
blame  fur  the  accident  an'  the  loss  it  has  in 
volved  to  the  church,  but  Eddie  Willoughby, 
and  I  oughter  say  a  word  as  to  the  dangers  of 
this  new-fangled  eddecation,  which  seems  to 
bring  out  all  the  depravity  an'  vanity  there  is 
in  young  men  an'  young  women.  Um-m. 
There  must  be  something  diameetrically  wrong 
in  the  present  system  or  there  wouldn't  be  so 
much  deviltry  among  the  risin'  generation." 

"  That's  so,"  commented  Elder  Tubbs,  and 
Mr.  Rickett  said  ' '  Amen  ! ' ' 
334 


Deacon  Updykc*  s  Annual  Report 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  Deacon,  "  accordin'  to 
my  estimate, —  an'  I've  figured  it  with  care, — 
the  damage  done  by  Eddie's  cane  is  summed 
up  in  the  followin'  items  which  I  will  read  :  — 

Broken  lamp $  .50 

Ditto,  chimbley 12 

Damage  to  carpet i.oo 

Oil  lost  —  one  pint 03 

Makin'  a  total  of   |i .65 

' '  We  bought  two  yards  of  new  carpet  of  the 
same  pattern  and  put  it  down  in  place  of  the 
old  piece  that  was  spotted  by  the  kerosene. 
We  have  replaced  the  broken  lamp  an'  chimb- 
ley,  gittin'  'em  through  a  dealer  in  .Pike's 
Corners.  Mrs.  Becker  said  she  would  stand 
the  damage  done  to  her  pew  cushions  herself, 
an'  she  intends  to  have  some  new  upholsterin' 
done  this  comin'  week.  The  sp'ilin'  o'  wearin' 
apparel,  occasioned  by  Eddie's  recklessness, 
the  church  is  not  legally  responsible  for,  so 
Jedge  Basley  affirms.  Um-m. 

' '  L,ookin'  at  this  matter  in  all  its  various 
aspects,  I  think  a  committee  of  this  board 
should  wait  on  Squire  Willoughby,  present 
him  with  a  bill  fur  $1.65  an'  ask  him  to  pay 
it,  as  he  can  well  afford  to.  The  only  other 
extra  expenses  of  the  church  fur  the  past  year 

335 


The  Bo-v- Legged  Gliost 

was  $4  fur  ne\v  Sunday  School  books  —  which 
'pears  to  me  a  needless  extravagance  in  these 
hard  times  ;  and  ninety  cents  fur  fixin'  o'  the 
roof  where  it  leaked.  The  statement  as  to 
the  dominie's  and  sexton's  salaries,  the  bills 
fur  fuel  an'  lightin'  an'  so  futh,  um-m,  are  the 
same  as  they've  been  fur  a  number  o'  years. 
We've  got  'em  figured  down  'bout  as  fine  as 
we  can  git  'em.  That,  brethren,  is  my  re 
port.  ' ' 

After  a  protracted  and  momentous  discus 
sion  of  the  cane  episode,  a  committee  of  three 
out  of  the  nine  trustees  was  appointed  to  see 
Squire  \Yilloughby  and  request  him  to  settle 
the  bill  for  damages  incurred  by  his  son, 
which,  be  it  said,  the  Squire  did  settle  in  due 
time,  without  a  murmur,  and  thus  the  matter, 
though  by  no  means  forgotten,  ended. 


336 


Wily  Tipplers 

better  illustrates  the  power  of 
alcohol  over  its  victim  than  the  strata 
gems  to  which  the  latter  will  resort 
to  obtain  it  under  restrictive  circumstances. 
For  instance,  the  present  Chronic  Insane  Asy 
lum  at  Binghamton,  New  York,  was  originally 
a  Chronic  Inebriate  Asylum.  Under  its  former 
regime  a  friend  of  the  present  writer  was  an 
inmate  for  about  a  year.  He  was  a  young 
man  of  good  parts,  a  member  of  an  old  aristo 
cratic  family  ;  but  the  demon  of  strong  drink 
had  fastened  itself  upon  him,  and  he  was  sent, 
with  his  own  approval,  to  this  whilom  luxu 
rious  refuge  for  incurable  drunkards.  The 
system  there  did  not  restrain  his  convivial 
tastes  nor  relieve  his  appetite  for  liquor.  On 
the  contrary,  he  lived  in  misery  without  his 
regular  potations,  and  finally  it  became  unen 
durable  to  him.  His  wits  became  actively 
engaged  in  the  scheme  of  smuggling  some 
liquor  into  the  institution  right  under  the 
argus  eyes  of  the  authorities. 
22  337 


The  B&w-Legged  Ghost 

He  soon  hit  upon  a  device,  and  on  one  of 
the  days  when  he  was  allowed  to  visit  the  city, 
he  went  to  a  tin  shop  and  there  ordered  a  hol 
low  tin  tube  to  be  so  made  as  to  resemble  a 
cane.  When  this  was  finished  he  turned  it 
over  to  a  clever  artist  to  paint,  the  result  being 
that  the  young  man  secured  what  every  one, 
not  examining  it  closely,  would  have  pro 
nounced  a  cane.  The  deception  was  further 
accentuated  by  representations  of  knots  on  it, 
which  made  it  look  like  a  natural  stick.  Of 
course,  the  top  could  be  slipped  off  on  occa 
sion.  The  tube  would  hold  about  a  quart  of 
liquor,  and  the  young  man  had  it  filled  at  a 
drug  store  and  succeeded  in  carrying  it  to  his 
room  without  being  detected.  That  night  he 
and  a  friend,  who  had  an  adjoining  room, 
emptied  the  tin  cane  of  its  contents.  They 
made  too  much  noise,  and  were  taken  in 
charge  by  the  night  watchman.  Afterward 
the  owner  of  the  cane  had  several  orgies 
in  the  same  manner ;  but  the  authorities 
never  could  ascertain  how  he  obtained  his 
"jags,"  though,  on  his  return  to  the  asy 
lum  from  a  visit  to  the  city,  he  was  al 
ways  thoroughly  searched.  It  may  be  added 
that  to-day  he  is  a  total  abstainer,  —  not 
even  touching  new  sweet  cider,  and  an  es- 
338 


Wily  Tipplers 

teemed   citizen   in    the   community  where   he 
resides. 

The  two  following  stories,  for  the  truth  of 
which  the  narrator  did  not  pretend  to  vouch, 
were  related  to  me  several  years  ago,  and,  to 
my  knowledge,  have  never  appeared  in  print. 
Both  of  the  stories  illustrate  the  cunning  al 
ternatives  to  which  old  tipplers  of  ' '  hardware  ' ' 
will  resort  when  moral  obligations  to  them 
selves  or  others  prevent  them  from  open  in 
dulgence  in  spirituous  potations. 

The  first  story  related  was  of  a  certain  famous 
American  tragedian,  now  dead,  who  was  wont 
to  have  an  occasional  spree.  He  and  his  com 
pany  came  to  Boston  many  years  ago  to  play 
an  important  Shakespearean  engagement  at 
the  old  National  Theatre.  On  the  morning 

preceding  the  opening  night,  Mr.  B ,  the 

tragedian,  met  his  manager  in  the  lobby  of  the 
theatre  and  the  latter  remarked  :  — 

' '  Mr.  B ,  you  have  always  been  a  popu 
lar  favorite  in  Boston,  and  can  number  among 
its  inhabitants  many  warm  personal  friends 
and  admirers.  I  hope  you  will  not  be  thrown 
among  any  of  your  old  intimates  to-day  ;  for 
as  sure  as  you  do  you  will  become  convivial, 
and  thus  insure  for  your  appearance  this  even 
ing  failure  and  disgrace." 
339 


The  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

Always  anxious  to  keep  his  appetite  in 
abeyance,  and  probably  having  in  mind  the 
remembrance  of  former  humiliations  through 
his  excesses,  Mr.  B answered  :  — 

"  Well,  if  you  have  any  misgivings  on  that 
point,  it  might  be  well  for  you  to  lock  me  up 
in  the  greenroom  until  it  is  time  for  the  per 
formance.  ' ' 

The  manager  promptly  approved  the  sug 
gestion,  and  the  tragedian  was  soon  locked  in 
the  greenroom.  About  two  hours  later  the 
manager  came  and  knocked  on  the  door,  and 
asked  the  eminent  actor  if  he  did  not  desire 
some  luncheon.  Receiving  a  negative  reply, 
the  manager  went  away.  Hour  after  hour 
dragged  on,  and  at  about  four  o'clock  in  the 

afternoon  Mr.  B 's  resolution  and  nerves 

began  to  weaken.  He  paced  the  floor 
struggling  against  the  terrible  inward  crav 
ing.  The  inevitable  moment  came.  He 
heard  the  stage  carpenter,  now  sawing,  now 
hammering,  just  outside  the  door,  and  with 
parched  throat  and  feverish  eagerness,  he 
cried  :  — 

"Peter!     Peter!" 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  B ?" 

"  Yes.  Peter,  you  are  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
aren't  you?" 

34° 


Wily  Tipplers 

"Indeed,  I  am,"  replied  Peter,  coming  to 
the  door. 

"Well,  then,  do  me  a  favor,  if  you  are," 
said  the  voice  in  the  greenroom.  ' '  I  am 
locked  in  here.  Go  out,  Peter,  and  get  a  pint 
of  good  brandy  and  a  long-stemmed  clay  pipe. 
Bring  them  here,  insert  the  stem  of  the  pipe 
through  the  keyhole,  and  carefully  pour  the 
brandy  into  the  bowl  of  the  pipe.  I  will  do 
the  rest  myself.  Understand  ?  " 

Peter  grasped  the  situation  in  an  instant, 
and  obeyed  the  instructions  to  the  letter.  The 
plan  worked  admirably,  and  was  carried  out 
without  discovery.  The  result  was  that  when 
the  manager  unlocked  the  greenroom  door 
that  evening  to  announce  to  Mr.  B — : —  that  it 
was  time  for  him  to  dress  for  Lear,  the  great 
actor  was  in  a  state  of  maudlin  irresponsibility, 
lying  prone  on  the  floor.  The  amazement  of 
that  manager  may  better  be  imagined  than  de 
scribed.  There  was  no  performance  that  night, 
a  notice  being  placed  on  the  bulletin  board  in 
front  of  the  theatre  to  the  effect  that,  owing 
to  a  severe  attack  of  illness,  the  tragedian 
would  be  unable  to  appear  that  evening. 


The  other  story  refers  to  Rufus  Choate,  the 
celebrated  lawyer,  who,  while  by  no  means  a 

341 


Tlic  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

slave  to  the  drink  habit,  appreciated  a  social 
glass  now  and  then,  and,  in  fact,  believed  in 
the  intellectual  value  of  stimulants  on  certain 
occasions.  Mr.  Choate  once  had  for  a  client 
a  man  who  was  strongly  opposed  to  the  use 
of  liquor  in  any  form.  The  condition  upon 
which  he  engaged  the  professional  services  of 
Mr.  Choate  to  conduct  his  lawsuit  was  that 
the  learned  advocate  should  not  drink  a  drop 
of  any  intoxicating  beverage  during  the  pro 
gress  of  the  trial. 

'This  is  a  very  important  case,"  declared 
Mr.  Meeker,  the  client,  "one  that  involves  a 
good  many  thousands  to  me,  and  I  cannot 
afford  to  intrust  it  to  a  lawyer  who  drinks,  no 
matter  how  smart  he  is. ' ' 

Mr.  Choate  promised  not  to  drink  any 
ardent  spirits  during  the  trial,  which  lasted 
for  several  days.  On  the  day  he  was  to  ' '  sum 
up ' '  the  case,  he  began  to  feel  a  little  uncer 
tain  as  to  what  verdict  the  jury  would  bring 
in.  The  evidence  was  not  altogether  in  favor 
of  his  client  —  in  fact,  the  other  side  seemed 
to  have  a  decided  advantage  in  that  respect. 
Mr.  Choate  made  up  his  mind  that  if  he  won 
the  case  at  all  it  would  be  owing  to  the  power 
of  his  eloquence  before  the  jury.  He  felt  a 
great  longing  for  a  little  stimulant  —  a  good 
342 


Wily  Tipplers 

"bracer,"  as  it  was  called  in  those  days.  He 
knew  it  would  render  him  far  more  persuasive 
to  imbibe  some  liquor  than  it  would  to  abstain 
from  it.  But  he  had  given  his  word  to  his 
client  that  he  would  not  drink.  His  ever 
ready  mental  resources,  however,  provided  a 
\vay  out  of  the  dilemma. 

During  the  recess  at  noon  he  sent  an  officer 
of  the  court  out  for  a  pint  bottle  of  brandy 
and  a  loaf  of  bread.  These  the  shrewd  coun 
selor  carried  into  a  vacant  room.  Breaking 
the  loaf  of  bread  in  two,  he  poured  into  each 
piece  as  much  of  the  liquor  as  it  would  hold 
and  absorb,  which  practically  drained  the  bot 
tle.  Then  he  nonchalantly  ate  the  brandy- 
soaked  bread  and  thus  secured  the  stimulating 
effects  he  craved  quite  as  easily  as  he  would 
have  done  by  literally  drinking  the  liquor. 

The  counsel  on  the  other  side  had  finished 
his  argument  just  before  the  noon  recess. 
When  the  court  reconvened,  Mr.  Choate  rose 
and  began  his  address  to  the  jury.  Flimsy 
and  weak  though  his  case  w?as,  so  far  as  the 
testimony  of  witnesses  was  concerned,  Mr. 
Choate,  with  matchless  sophistries,  humorous 
and  pathetic  anecdotes  and  bewitching  logic, 
completely  captured  the  sympathies  of  every 
riveted  juror.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an 
343 


The  Bo-^-Lcgged  Ghost 

hour  after  the  judge  had  delivered  a  brief 
charge,  a  verdict  was  rendered  in  favor  of 
Mr.  Choate's  client. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Mr.  Meeker,  a 
little  later,  extending  his  hand  to  the  great 
lawyer.  ' '  You  tried  my  case  better  than  any 
man  in  the  United  States  could  have  done. 
Didn't  I  maintain  that  you  could  get  along 
twice  as  well  without  using  that  vile,  nasty 
liquor?  I  am  glad  to  pay  you  your  counsel 
fees  in  full.  Ah,  Mr.  Choate,  didn't  I  tell  you 
we  should  win  the  case  if  you  did  not  drink  ? ' ' 

"You  did,"  replied  the  advocate,  dryly. 
"And  I  adhered  to  my  promise  to  you.  But 
we  won't  discuss  now  the  virtues  of  members 
of  the  bar  who  are  teetotalers. ' ' 


344 


No  Woman,  No  Fad 

r;ADS  and  fashions  are  quite  inseparable 
nowadays.  Remember  you  the  Trilby 
craze,  the  fads  of  Trilbyness  and  Trilby 
fashion  ?  The  expert  chiropodists  coined 
money  for  a  while  after  the  appearance  of  Du 
Manner's  book,  because  all  the  young  ladies 
were  anxious  to  have  their  feet  in  the  best 
state  of  repair.  There  is  t'he  still  continuing 
bicycle  fad,  with  its  accompanying  phases  of 
feminine  attire. 

The  bicycle  has  done  more  for  the  advanced 
woman  than  all  the  legislation  in  the  United 
States  for  the  past  twenty-five  years.  Being 
the  possessor  of  a  bicycle,  a  woman,  of  course, 
must  have  a  bicycle  costume,  and  a  bicycle 
costume  is  not  built  on  any  recognized  arbi 
trary  rules. 

Some  women  do  not  mind  showing  their 
legs  —  others  prefer  to. 

In  this  respect  we  are  reminded  that  Anne 
of  Britanny  was  celebrated  for  the  beauty  of 
345 


Tlic  B&w-Legged  Ghost 

her  leg  and  foot,  and  accordingly  wore  her 
skirts  short.  Other  women  with  shapely 
calves  followed  her  example.  Thus  it  often 
happens  now  that  you  see  on  bicycles  the 
plumpest  women  in  the  most  mannish  at 
tire. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  scrawny  woman  is 
quite  likely  to  choose  a  more  conventional 
costume.  It  is  said  St.  Louis's  daughters, 
whose  legs  and  feet  were  ill-shaped,  contrived 
to  wear  very  long  gowns  in  order  to  hide 
them.  This  was  a  coquettish  bit  of  feminine 
nature  worth  studying. 

It  was  because  she  had  such  beautiful 
shoulders  that  Catherine  de  Medicis  had  her 
gowns  cut  low  in  the  bosom  and  at  the  back. 
Etiquette  demanded  that  the  ladies  of  her  court 
should  do  likewise,  regardless  of  their  shape, 
or  lack  of  it.  Catherine  had  a  good  deal  of 
quiet  fun  out  of  her  advantage  over  some  of 
her  female  retainers. 

Has  femininity  changed  much  since  the 
days  of  Catherine  ? 

Is  it  not  natural  that  women  should  be  con 
scious  of  their  charms,  if  they  have  any  ?  Xay , 
women  are  not  only  conscious,  but  proud  of 
them.  It  is  recorded  that  at  Aix  a  Demoi 
selle  de  Lacepede,  the  widow  of  Sieur  de 
346 


No  Woman,  No  Fad 

Lacoste,  having  been  accused  before  the  court 
of  wearing  a  hoop  of  seditious  width,  gave 
her  word  of  honor  on  the  witness  stand  that 
the  ' '  exaggerated  size  of  her  hips,  which  was 
the  cause  of  the  complaint,  was  simply  a  gift 
of  nature."  The  judges  laughed,  and  she 
was  acquitted. 

A  fad  without  a  woman  at  the  back  of  it 
isn't  usually  of  much  account.  It  was  she 
who  made  roller  skating  popular.  It  is  she 
who  gives  bathing  at  the  seashore  a  romantic 
charm.  She  keeps  the  game  of  lawn  tennis 
in  public  favor,  and  is  popularizing  golf 
throughout  the  country.  All  these  little  fads 
would  gasp  themselves  out  of  existence  in 
short  order  if  man  alone  were  expected  to  keep 
them  alive-.  Many  a  fad  has  gone  to  the  wall 
just  because  women  wouldn't  have  anything 
to  do  with  it.  The  fair  sex  in  this  connection 
generally  ignores  any  fad  which  does  not  give 
them  an  equal  opportunity  with  men,  and 
the  opportunity  which  women  seize  with  the 
greatest  avidity  is  the  one  which  enables 
them  to  act  and  look  like  men.  Hence,  dress 
and  fads  are  intimately  allied. 

It  is  true,  fashions  change,  but  it  is  also 
true  that  they  travel  in  a  circle.  Under  Louts 
XVI. ,  Frenchwomen  plunged  into  a  mad  excess 
347 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

in  imitating  masculine  fashions.  Everywhere, 
on  the  streets,  in  the  cafes,  were  to  be  seen 
women  in  coats,  with  braid  and  lapels,  double 
capes,  and  metal  buttons.  A  well-known 
writer,  Augustin  Challamel,  says:  "The 
most  elegant  women  were  muffled  up  in 
cravats,  shirt  frills,  waistcoats,  and  wore  two 
watches,  with  chains,  breloques  and  seals. 
Some  even  wore  men's  hats  and  carried 
canes. ' ' 

Behold  within  the  past  dozen  years  the 
same  results  in  our  own  land.  First  came  the 
Tailor-Made  Girl,  then  the  Bachelor  Girl,  who 
was  still  more  audacious  in  her  opinions  of 
female  attire,  if  not  in  her  practical  adoption  of 
these  opinions,  and  now  we  have  the  Ad 
vanced  Woman  and  the  Female  Bicycle 
Amazon.  The  Astride  Horseback  Woman 
has  begun  her  threats,  being  somewhat  em 
boldened  by  the  attitude  already  taken  by  a 
number  of  her  British  sisters.  This,  together 
with  the  Female  Cocktail  Consumer  and  the 
Woman  Smoker,  gives  promise  of  quite  a  new 
era  in  human  affairs. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  some  good  will  result 
from  these  daily  increasing  exhibitions  of 
mannishness  on  the  part  of  women  —  some  of 
them  real  nice,  beautiful  but  misguided 

348 


No  Woman,  No  Fad 

creatures,  too.  Meanwhile  it  is  a  good  sign 
to  see  that  some  of  the  least  indispensable  of 
the  chappies  are  lacing  themselves  tighter  than 
ever  and  find  breathing  the  pure  air  of  heaven 
a  difficult  occupation. 


349 


Origin  of  "  Beautiful  Snow " 

literary  editor  shouted,  "Come  in!" 
and  she  did.  She  proved  to  be  a  most  en- 
trancing  specimen  of  female  animation. 
The  editor,  well  —  he  ran  his  ink-blotched 
fingers  through  his  still  more  inky  tresses, 
sighed,  abruptly  rose,  recovered  himself,  bowed 
his  neck  nearly  out  of  joint,  and  finally  moved 
a  prehistoric  chair  in  front  of  the  coy,  blush 
ing  maiden  of  forty-five  summers. 

This  editorial  thusness  was  not  due  to  the 
nonappearance  of  the  fair  sex  in  the  sanctum 
of  the  Metropolitan  Reticule,  for  a  genteel  suf 
ficiency  of  females  came  there  daily,  with 
heartrending  entreaties  and  complaints  and 
equally  heartrending  MSS.  In  truth,  one 
might  at  this  moment  suppose  the  editor  to  be 
the  President  of  the  United  States,  so  volumi 
nous  and  persistent  are  the  throng  that  con 
stantly  besieges  his  domain.  But  the  human 
antique  who  now  stood  before  him,  and  whose 
parched  lips  seemed  to  be  formulating  a  re 
mark,  challenged  his  interest. 
35° 


Origin   of  ''Beautiful  Snow" 

"My  name  is  Sophelia  Hortense  Dumb- 
weather,"  she  murmured  at  last,  in  a  voice 
whose  intonation  was  as  distinct  as  the  pat 
ter  of  the  maternal  shingle  on  a  recreant  son. 
"  You  may  have  noticed  my  name  in  print ;  I 
write  poetry  fcr  the  Cape  Cod  Fish  Story. 
May  I  trust  you  with  the  secret  of  a  treasure 
that  lies  buried  way  down  deep  in  my  intel 
lect  ?  ' ' 

"  You  may,  you  may,"  returned  the  editor, 
with  a  smile  as  thick  as  old  molasses. 

"  \Yell,  then,  sir,  I  have  a  new  idea." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  editor,  "allow  me  to 
make  a  memorandum  of  it  in  my  diary  for 
1899." 

"It  is  this,"  continued  Miss  Dumbweather, 
with  a  slightly  augmented  sai'oir-faire.  "  As 
I  was  strolling  along  Fifth  Avenue  this  morn 
ing  I  watched  the  feathery  and  fleecy  flakes  as 
they  fluttered  in  the  air,  and  two  poetic  ideas 
of  their  possible  origin  flashed  into  my  mind. 
At  first,  methought  the  mansions  in  heaven 
are  made  of  snow.  This  would  not  conflict 
with  the  saying  that  '  architecture  is  frozen 
music,"  providing  we  admit  that  music  is  a 
liquid  before  it  is  frozen.  My  fancy  went  on 
weaving  its  wonderful  woof,  and  I  thought 
the  saints  up  there  who  build  the  palaces  work 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

in  carpenter  shops  the  same  as  mortals  do;  that 
they  cut  out  huge  pillars  of  snow  and  plane 
them  smoothly,  or  with  chisels  ornamentally 
etch  them,  the  shavings  that  fall  from  these 
frigid  timbers  being  known  to  us  as  snowflakes. 
Do  you  catch  the  poetical  drift,  sir  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed.  Its  significance  fairly 
benumbs  me." 

"The  other  suggestion  of  the  origin  of 
'  Beautiful  Snow  '  was  this,"  went  on  Miss  D. 
' '  It  occurred  to  me  that  there  might  be  celes 
tial  cows  in  heaven,  and  that  the  angels  milk 
them  ;  that  a  drop  of  milk  is  spilled  here  and 
there,  which  immediately  congeals  and  de 
scends  to  earth.  Now  which  do  you  consider 
the  better  in  all  points  for  adoption  in  my 
forthcoming  poem  on  '  Beautiful  Snow?'  " 

"My  dear  Miss  Dumbweather,  this  is  so 
sudden,  so  unexpected,"  said  the  editor,  asum- 
ing  a  manner  not  unlike  that  of  a  girl  to  whom 
a  lover  has  proposed  matrimony,  "  that  I  can 
only  offer  an  apology  for  an  answer  to  this 
very  momentous  question.  At  the  same  time, 
I  feel  deeply  grateful  to  you  for  submitting  it 
to  me.  Your  first  idea  would  seem  to  shatter 
the  prevailing  theory  that  mansions  of  gold 
exist  in  Paradise.  Some  people  who  are  not 
blessed  with  a  superabundance  of  the  yellow 
352 


Origin   of  "  Bcazitiful 

metal  in  this  world  are  laying  in  a  great  store 
of  faith  that  they  will  get  a  fair  assignment 
of  it  in  the  next,  and  I  respectfully  inquire 
whether  it  would  not  increase  the  annual  list 
of  backsliders  and  apostates  to  make  a  public 
announcement,  even  inferentially,  that  gold  is 
a  scarce  commodity  up  there.  I  think  your 
other  idea  is  more  satisfying  to  the  soul. 
That  angels  act  in  the  capacity  of  milkmaids 
is  intensely  poetical;  and  then,  you  know,  milk 
is  a  very  appropriate  symbol  of  purity  —  if  it 
be  definitely  stated  that  the  milk  is  unadul 
terated. 

' '  But  there  is  one  point  that  perhaps  might 
leave  an  unpleasant  impression  on  the  reader: 
spilled  milk  would  imply  either  carelessness  on 
the  Dart  of  the  angels,  or  strong  kicking  pro 
pensities  on  the  part  of  the  celestial  cows. 
However,  should  the  angels  observe  the  maxim 
that  'it's  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk,'  the 
incongruity  would  be  dissipated.  Go  on, 
young  woman,  in  the  way  you  have  started. 
You  have  a  bright  future  ahead,  but  I  can't 
say  how  far  ahead  it  is.  Send  me  a  copy  of 
your  poem  when  it  is  completed.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  its  merit  will  bring  you  a  hand 
some  pension.  But,  to  be  candid,  my  time  is 
limited  for  social  intercourse  during  business 


Bow-Legged  Ghost 

hours,  and  so  I  trust  you  will  excuse  me.   Come 
again  next  Christmas. ' ' 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  gaily  tripping  out  of 
the  sanctum  as  though  her  intention  was  to  be 
prompt  to  meet  the  appointment. 


354 


WT  MAY  be  observed,  without  intentional 
M^  offense  to  any  young  lady  who  may  be  en 
amored  of  some  skeleton-like  young  man, 
that,  as  a  rule,  fat  men,  besides  being  the 
most  jolly  and  convivial  of  the  male  species, 
are  also  apt  to  be  the  most  considerate  of  and 
charitable  to  others.  Most  fat  men  are  ever 
ready  to  smile,  nay  to  laugh  heartily.  They 
usually  possess  happy  natures  —  perhaps  be 
cause  as  a  class  they  have  good  appetites  and 
enjoy  what  they  eat.  They  are  more  social 
than  their  lean  brethren  —  a  fact  which 
properly  explains  why  no  one  ever  heard  of 
a  Lean  Men's  Clam  Bake.  After  all  is  said 
that  can  be  said  against  them,  the  fact  still 
remains  that  seven  out  of  ten  fat  men  make 
excellent  husbands.  Most  unmarried  ladies 
cherish  as  their  ideals  men  who  are  tall  and 
cannot  boast  of  any  unusual  amount  of  adipose 
tissue.  They  spurn  the  idea  of  a  fat  man  for 
a  life-long  companion,  and  yet  many  marriages 
355 


The  B oiv- Legged  Ghost 

with  fat  men,  and  also  with  men  who  grow 
rapidly  or  gradually  stout  after  marriage,  have 
turned  out  very  well. 

A  lady  who  has  her  home  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
a  widow',  wrhose  two  husbands  repose  side  by 
side  in  Greenwood,  remarked  the  other  day  to 
the  writer  :  ' '  My  first  husband  was  of  the 
brunette  order,  tall,  angular,  sallow-faced, 
saturnine,  nervous  —  even  to  irritability  at 
times,  and  more  or  less  of  an  invalid  during 
the  latter  part  of  his  life.  Xo  couple  could 
have  furnished  a  wider  contrast  in  tempera 
ment  than  ourselves.  I  am  social  by  nature, 
fond  of  attending  theatres  and  of  sight-seeing, 
while  he  was  a  morbid  recluse,  taking  no  in 
terest  whatever  in  the  world's  gayeties.  I 
really  believe,  if  he  had  had  a  little  more  flesh 
on  his  bones,  he  would  have  been  a  different. 
not  to  say  a  happier,  man.  Mind  you,  I  am 
casting  no  stones  at  his  cherished  memory. 
My  second  husband  belonged  to  another 
genus.  He  was  six  feet  two  inches  tall  and 
weighed  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  He 
was  a  pronounced  blonde  and  a  perfect  picture 
of  health.  He  took  an  interest  in  everything, 
though  not  to  the  detriment  of  his  business.  I 
never  had  to  ask  him  twice  to  go  anywhere 
with  me.  He  was  always  eager  to  participate 
356 


Fat  Men  and  Lean 

in  anything  where  mirth  and  a  good  time  were 
promised.  But  the  poor  man  drank  too  much 
champagne  and  ate  too  many  late  suppers,  and 
apoplexy  carried  him  off." 

A  lady  in  Brooklyn,  on  being  asked  what 
physical  style  of  man  she  preferred,  replied  : 
"  The  one  I  have  suits  me  very  well.  He  is 
neither  fat  nor  lean.  According  to  my  ideas 
of  masculine  physique,  he  is  just  right." 
Another  lady  who  was  present  volunteered 
ihe  information  that  her  husband  was  too  fat 
for  his  own  comfort,  and  that,  when  he  moved, 
he  suggested  to  her  the  picture  of  a  big  piece 
of  animated  jelly.  Going  up  one  flight  of 
stairs  made  him  puff  like  a  fire-engine,  and  he 
was  always  complaining  of  some  pain.  She 
feared  that  he  had  fatty  degeneration  of  the 
heart.  It  seemed  to  her  that  his  moral  sense 
had  grown  blunter  as  he  acquired  flesh,  and 
in  conclusion  she  said  that  she  did  not  have 
much  admiration  for  flabby,  fat  men. 

A  popular  clergyman,  who  weighs  over 
two  hundred  and  fifty,  on  being  asked  his 
views  respecting  fat  men,  thus  replied,  with  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye  :  ' '  There  are  differ 
ent  kinds  of  fat  men.  There  is  the  little, round, 
oily,  fat  man.  There  is  the  digastric  fat  man 
who  gets  abnormally  fat  because  he  is  lazy 
357 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

and  indolent.  To  me  such  a  man  is  an  object 
for  compassion.  But  for  the  man  who  is  born 
and  stays  fat,  or  the  man  who  gets  fat  natur 
ally  as  he  matures,  I  have  the  highest  re 
spect,  providing  the  man  in  other  ways  is 
worthy. ' ' 

A  lank,  cadaverous- visaged  poet,  who  is 
often  seen  walking  along  Newspaper  Row, 
was  recently  asked  if  he  would  not  enjoy  life 
more  keenly  if  he  were  a  trifle  more  corpulent. 
"  No,"  he  swiftly  and  disdainfully  answered, 
"corpulency  befits  aldermen,  boodlers,  and 
saloon-keepers.  Though  a  literary  man,  I 
never  indulge  in  malt,  which  —  to  paraphrase 
from  Emerson  —  is  '  making  our  Western  wits 
fat  and  mean.'  You  will  find  that  the  major 
ity  of  intellectual  people  are  not  gross,  though 
many  of  them  are  what  may  be  termed  plump. 
Point  me  out  ten  fat  men,  and  I  will  point  you 
out  nine  stupid  men.  Was  Apollo  coarse  and 
unctuous?  Was  the  Greek  conception  of  a 
perfectly  molded  body  that  of  one  weighing 
three  hundred  pounds  ?  No.  Art  and  poetry 
ever  have  sought  to  immortalize  such  lithe 
and  willowy  forms  as  that  of  Venus,  such 
trim,  athletic  limbs  as  those  of  Diana,  such 
graceful  symmetry  as  that  of  Hebe.  Really, 
I  would  rather  be  a  snail  than  a  fat  man." 
358 


Fat  Men  and  Lean 

"Assuming,"  observed  the  poet's  ques 
tioner,  "  that  as  a  rule  those  not  fat  are  the 
most  intellectual  and  eminent  in  the  world, 
how  do  you  account  for  the  fact  that  of  all  the 
people  who  obtain  divorces  only  about  one- 
fourth  are  fat  people  ? ' ' 

"Oh,"  returned  the  poet,  "you  might  as 
well  ask  why  there  are  not  as  many  fat  people 
in  the  world  as  lean.  I  am  not  married,  but 
if  I  ever  do  take  a  wife,  you  may  rest  assured 
that  she  will  not  be  a  woman  of  such  dimen 
sions  as  to  attract  offers  from  dime  museum 
managers. ' ' 

Then  the  long-haired  votary  of  the  muse 
pursued  his  fanciful  way  toward  a  fifteen-cent 
restaurant. 


359 


Society  Actresses 

number  of  society  women  who  are 
entering  the  theatrical  profession  is 
growing  somewhat  alarming,  and  the 
question  naturally  arises,  Are  they  a  neces 
sary  evil?  Domestic  troubles,  or  pecuniary 
difficulties,  are  among  the  usual  reasons  al 
leged  for  their  going  on  the  stage. 

In  several  instances,  women  have  allowed 
their  private  troubles  to  be  discussed  in  the 
public  prints  for  a  year  or  so  before  announc 
ing  their  histrionic  intentions.  Some  begin 
by  participating  in  amateur  theatricals,  which 
are  about  as  tiresome  usually  as  anything  ever 
devised  for  the  ostensible  delectation  of  so 
ciety. 

Formerly,  it  was  quite  stylish  for  a  society 
woman  to  startle  drawing-rooms  by  reading 
"Ostler  Joe"  in  a  complacent,  matter-of-fact 
manner.  This  was  a  sure  way  to  get  her 
talked  about  and  to  render  rosy  the  path  to 
her  coveted  goal  —  the  stage.  But  reading 
' '  Ostler  Joe ' '  to  gatherings  of  the  bon  ton  has 
36* 


Society  Actresses 

quite  gone  out  of  fashion  and  is  not  nearly  so 
en  regie  as  it  was.  In  short  it  has  been  demon 
strated  that  reading  ' '  Ostler  Joe ' '  will  not 
procure  for  a  society  woman  that  bountiful 
and  enduring  notoriety  which  complaining  of 
a  husband  will.  It  is  notoriety,  you  know, 
which  Americans  aspire  to  —  not  legitimate 
fame  and  deserved  glory.  On  the  latter  peo 
ple  starve  to  death  in  this  country.  But 
notoriety  is  the  thing  anxiously  sought. 
Notoriety,  despite  Carlyle's  definition  of  it  as 
"  Fame's  bastard  sister,"  fills  purses  and  makes 
the  possessor  thereof  well  to  do. 

The  following  is  a  brief  and  imperfect  tabu 
lation  of  the  causes  which  have  made  noto 
rious  certain  society  women  who  are  now7 
earning  a  fine  living  as  ' '  stars. ' '  Allowing 
for  the  varying  circumstances  of  individuals, 
this  tabulation  may  serve  as  a  partial  list  of 
recipes  for  the  guidance  of  those  society 
women  who  are  contemplating  the  ways  and 
means  of  going  on  the  stage  :  — 

I.  She  was  divorced  from  her  husband  in 
Chicago,  January  3d,  1897.  She  married 
again  in  the  same  city,  January  4th,  1897.  She 
told  friends  that  her  second  husband  abused 
her  worse  than  her  first  had  done.  The 
friends  talked.  She  got  into  the  newspapers. 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

Six  months  later  she  made  a  triumphant  ap 
pearance  in  New  York,  in  "  Camille's  Sister  ; 
or,  How  to  Stuff  the  Public. ' '  Now  en  route. 
Standing  room  only. 

II.  Sent  for  a  reporter,   who  came.      Told 
him  she  had  been  a  "bud"    for   two   years. 
Also  that  her  father  had  recently  shot  him 
self,    because  she   had   become  engaged  to  a 
dudish  gambler  and  would  not  give  him  up. 
Story  proved  a  ' '  find  ' '  for  the  paper.     Other 
papers   elaborated    on    the    facts.      Made   her 
debut  last  season  in  Philadelphia,  in  "As  in  a 
Beer  Glass  ;  or,  How  People  Swallow7  Things." 
On  no  night  since  have  the  receipts  been  less 
than  $2,000. 

III.  Painted  her  arms  black  and  blue,  also 
her  left  eye,  and  went  to  a  swrell  reception  in 
a  decollete  dress.      Told  everybody  the  black 
and  blue  represented  bruises  made  by  the  fist 
of  a  drunken  husband.     Sensation.     Gossip. 
Several   cavaliers  volunteered   to  go  gunning 
for  the  husband,  who  fled  to  parts  unknown. 
Made    her    first    appearance    in    Boston,    in 
"Hokus    Pokus;    or,    Getting    There    With 
Ease."     Now  playing  to  crowded   houses  on 
the  New  England  circuit. 

IV.  Affected    eccentricity.       Wore    hosiery 
on  her  hands  and  gloves  on  her  feet.     Some- 

362 


Society  Actresses 

body  said  she  was  insane.  Then  everybody 
said  so.  Her  manager,  who  had  previously 
been  engaged,  billed  her  heavily  in  Baltimore 
to  appear  in  "  Pure  Rot  ;  or,  Notoriety  by  Any 
Other  Xame."  Instantaneous  success.  In 
vesting  largely  in  real  estate  in  various  cities. 


363 


The  New  Literary  Era 

WHATEVER  may  be  the  inveighing  against 
55  the  condition  of  belles  lettrcs  in  this 
country,  there  can  be  no  question  as  to 
the  dawning  of  a  new  and  lucrative  era  for  the 
American  litterateur.  For  my  own  part,  no 
one  can  experience  more  rapture  in  contem 
plating  the  advent  of  such  an  era.  When  it 
has  arrived,  the  ragged  Bohemian  will  doubt 
less  become  a  tradition,  and  there  will  be  less 
taking  of  "pot  luck"  in  the  third-class  res 
taurants  among  those  who  have  borne  that 
classification. 

The  reason  why  prosperity  is  in  store  for 
the  literati  is  not  far  to  seek.  This  is  distinc 
tively  a  commercial  age,  and  advertising  has 
done  much  to  make  it  so.  With  the  steady 
increase  of  advertising,  there  has  grown  up  a 
steady  competition  in  the  novelty  and  method 
of  advertising.  The  public  eye  is  no  longer 
to  be  arrested  by  the  old-fashioned  "ad." 
In  consequence,  advertisers  now,  especially  of 
patent  medicines,  pay  the  papers  enormous 
364 


Tlie  J\rcw   Literary   Era 

prices  for  long  "reading  notices,"  so  written 
as  to  make  most  readers,  when  they  begin 
reading  them,  think  they  are  news  articles. 
A  great  deal  of  ingenuity  is  displayed  in  the 
make-up  of  these  notices,  and  they  daily  fool 
thousands  of  people. 

Now,  it  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  any 
member  of  these  many  firms  who  thus 
advertise,  prepares  the  matter,  except  in  rare 
instances. 

It  is  their  custom  to  hire  a  professional 
scribbler  to  do  this  sort  of  thing,  and  if  he 
prove  valuable  in  this  way,  he  is  generally 
engaged  by  the  year  at  a  very  tempting  salary. 
I  know  of  a  man  who  was  formerly  the  pro 
fessional  poet  of  one  of  the  so-called  comic 
weeklies,  in  this  city,  who  now  earns  $5,000 
per  annum  as  the  versifier  for  a  Baltimore  soap 
firm.  The  other  day  I  met  on  the  street  an 
old  journalistic  friend,  whom  I  had  not  seen 
in  some  time.  "  How  are  you  getting  on?" 
I  asked.  "  Never  better,"  he  responded,  with 
enthusiasm ;  "I  keep  up  my  special  writing 
for  the  Sunday  -  — ,  but  my  big  money 
comes  from  the  -  -  Nerve  Tonic  Company 
and  -  — 's  Pulmonary  Pellets.  I  am  their 
exclusive  verse  and  'ad.'  fakir,  and  they  pay 
elegant  prices." 

365 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

I  was  naturally  glad  of  my  friend's  success, 
and  his  employment  suggested  to  me  a  train 
of  thought  which  I  never  pursued  before. 

Since  that  interview  I  have  discovered  that 
several  of  my  old  acquaintances  have  gone 
into  the  employment  of  great  firms  which 
advertise  extensively,  and  are  getting  rich. 
It  will  not  be  long  before  we  may  read 
in  literary  papers  such  notices  as  the  fol 
lowing  :  — 

"Mr.  Fred  Layton,  former  editor  of  the 
weekly  Rapier,  is  now  the  chief  advertise 
ment  writer  for  Spring's  Git  Up  and  Git 
Horse  Powders.  We  congratulate  Mr.  lyay- 
ton  upon  his  pronounced  literary  success! ' ' 

"The  firm  which  manufactures  Smyth's 
Silver  Specific  for  Drunkenness  has  en 
gaged  Mr.  T.  G.  Branagan,  the  poet,  to 
write  all  their  verses,  at  an  annual  salary  of 
$8,000." 

"  Miss  Ella  Flynn,  the  beautiful  prose  con 
tributor  to  the  Magnetic  Girdle  advertisements, 
is  in  town.  We  understand  she  has  recently 
refused  a  lucrative  offer  to  wrrite  for  The  Gray 
Hair  Annihilator  Company." 

' '  The  Tough  on  Cockroaches  advertise 
ments  are  now  being  graphically  furnished  by 
J.  W.  Ralton,  whose  experience  for  over  ten 
366 


The   +Yc~v   Literary   Era 

years  as  a  reporter  on  the  Hornet  amply  quali 
fies  him  for  the  position  which  nets  him  $5,000 
a  year.'' 

"  Nearly  all  the  newspapers  and  magazines 
are  advertising  for  writers,  reporters,  and  con 
tributors.  The  daily  Moonbeam  offers  twenty- 
five  dollars  per  column  for  matter  from  any 
of  its  former  writers.  The  latter,  however, 
are  not  likely  to  leave  their  present  employ 
ment  for  any  such  picayune  offers. ' ' 


367 


Humbug  and  Reality 


defines  humbug  to  be  "an  impo- 
sition  under  fair  pretenses.'1  Most 
people  would  resent  an  intimation  that 
they  like  to  be  imposed  upon,  even  under  any 
pretense,  and  yet  no  charge  so  general  in  its 
application  can  be  made  against  the  civilized 
human  family  of  to-day  as  that  it  loves  to  be 
humbugged.  Turn  which  way  we  will,  proof 
of  this  is  at  hand.  From  the  cradle  to  the 
grave,  poor  human  nature  imposes  upon  itself 
"  under  fair  pretenses." 

Men  and  women,  too,  yearn  for  humbugs, 
and  the  more  thoroughly  they  are  humbugged 
the  better  they  like  it.  They  will  pay  a  large 
price  to  each  other  to  perform  the  service  for 
them,  but  it  is  sweetest  of  all  when  they  hum 
bug  themselves.  Men  will  fish  all  day  where 
there  isn't  a  scale,  hunt  where  there  isn't  a 
feather,  come  home  tired  and  hungry  and 
humbug  themselves  into  the  belief  that  they 
have  had  sport.  They  will  look  upon  the 
cold  inanimate  form  of  the  victim  of  dissipa- 
368 


Humbug  and  Reality 

tion  with  mingled  pity  and  contempt  for  the. 
weakness  which  led  to  self-destruction,  and 
humbug  themselves  into  the  belief  that  they 
can  sip  from  the  wine  cup,  guzzle  the  beer, 
and  smoke  the  cigarettes  which  caused  it,  and 
avoid  the  inevitable.  They  \vill  preach 
against  vice  and  immorality,  attend  divine 
service  on  Sunday  and  possibly  give  tithes  of 
all  they  possess,  and  delude  themselves  with 
the  impression  that  they  are  washed  clean 
from  the  sins  of  sharp  practice  and  deceit 
which  follow  through  the  week.  They  will 
violate  the  laws  of  health  with  impunity,  and 
believe  that  by  the  use  of  nostrums  they  can 
humbug  nature  and  escape  the  penalty.  The 
young  sow  the  tares  and  the  old  reap  them  — 
both  humbugged  in  the  harvest.  And  what 
is  true  of  the  sterner  sex  is  none  the  less  a 
stern  fact  with  the  weaker  sex.  Humbugged 
in  Eden,  they  have  never  escaped  the  thral 
dom,  and  if  it  is  not  fig  leaves  it  is  the  street- 
sweeping  skirt,  the  paper-soled  shoe,  and 
finally  the  hectic  cough  —  about  which  there 
is  no  humbug. 

In  short,    we  all    humbug   ourselves.     We 
read   a  lesson    in   the   weaknesses    and  short 
comings  of  others,  and  humbug  ourselves  into 
the  belief  that  we  are  ironclad  against  them. 
24  369 


Tlic  Bo-^c- Legged  Ghost 

Like  Mark  Twain's  Sandwich  Island  Legisla 
ture,  which  he  describes  as  spending  all  its 
time  at  each  session  in  repealing  the  work  of 
the  previous  session,  so  we  spend  each  suc 
ceeding  year  humbugging  ourselves  that  in 
the  future  we  will  correct  the  faults  of  the 
past.  But  in  spite  of  all  this,  there  is  that 
which  is,  and  which  for  all  time  will  be,  a 
reality  —  a  treasure  which  can  be  laid  up 
where  moth  nor  rust  do  not  corrupt  and 
where  thieves  do  not  break  through  and  steal. 
If,  then,  amid  all  the  shams  this  golden  har 
vest  be  secured,  it  will  truly  not  have  been  — 

"All  of  life  to  live,  nor  all  of  death  to  die." 


Theatrical   Expansion 

v  that  Cuba,  Porto  Rico,  and  the  Philip- 

.  . 

pines  have  come  within  the  sphere  of 

Yankee  influence,  there  is  no  doubt  that 
the  benighted  natives  will  have  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  some  of  our  strolling  players.  The 
Spaniards  have  always  been  fond  of  the  thea 
tre,  and  the  people  of  that  race  who  remain  in 
our  newly-acquired  islands  will  probably  be 
come  either  infatuated  or  inured  to  our  ways 
of  entertaining,  sooner  or  later. 

Within  a  short  time,  it  may  not  be  surpris 
ing  to  see  some  of  our  managers  establish  an 
Oriental  circuit,  comprising  the  Hawaiian  Is 
lands  and  the  Philippines.  Why  not?  Isn't 
there  as  good  a  chance  for  ambitious  actors  in 
that  part  of  the  world  as  there  was  for  Wil 
liamson,  the  "Struck  Oil"  man,  who  went 
out  to  Australia  some  years  ago  and  made  a 
fortune  there?  As  to  the  quality  of  the  audi 
ences,  I  fancy  there  is  not  much  choice  between 
playing  to  half-castes  and  Malays,  and  to  those 
371 


TIic  Bow-Legged  (i/iost 

noisy  bush  rangers  and  wild  men  of  Borneo 
that  Williamson  purveyed  to. 

At  all  events,  virgin  soil  out  in  the  East 
awaits  the  Thespian  tread,  and  that  dramatic 
organizations  will  go  there  with  the  great 
exodus  of  fortune  hunters  is  a  foregone  con 
clusion.  In  return,  we  may  expect  some  im 
portations  from  our  new  domains,  in  the  way 
of  theatrical  attractions.  Certainly  it  will  not 
be  long  before  the  vaudeville  stage  will  have 
teams  doing  the  "Manila  buck,"  and  such 
features  as  the  Female  Tom-Tom  Orchestra 
from  Guam,  the  Luzon  Quartet  —  perhaps  led 
by  Aguinaldo  himself,  the  Hula-Hula  dancers 
from  Honolulu,  the  Champion  Poi  Eater  of 
the  South  Seas,  the  Porto  Rican  Sugar  Cane 
Singers,  the  Coffee  Plantation  Yawkers  from 
Aquadilla,  the  Tobacco  Strippers'  Quintet 
from  Havana,  and  so  on. 

If  these  novelties  should  draw  well,  as  they 
probably  would,  some  man  like  the  dauntless 
Mr.  Brady  might  induce  ex-Queen  Liliuokalani 
to  star  in  a  play  written  expressly  for  her,  say 
by  Augustus  Thomas.  Here  would  be  an 
opulent  chance  for  the  delineation  of  types 
absolutely  new  to  the  stage. 

And  then  perhaps  Paul  Arthur  might  con 
struct  a  play  in  which  the  central  feature  would 
372 


Theatrical  Expansion 

be  a  real  bullfight,  with  genuine  toreros, 
picadores,  c/nilas,  banderillos,  and  cspadas,  "es 
pecially  engaged  for  this  production."  There 
is  a  world  of  possibilities  for  the  wide-awake 
managers  in  the  great  political  changes  now 
going  on,  and  there  need  be  no  cause  to  fear 
that  they  will  not  plunge  into  the  tide  at 
the  flood.  Actors  who  cannot  find  engage 
ments  in  this  country  may  learn  that  it  is 
to  their  advantage  to  establish  Rialtos  in 
Havana,  Ponce,  Manila,  and  Honolulu,  and 
likewi.se  some  of  the  languishing  dramatic 
agencies  may  perceive  here  a  profitable  hint. 

A  few  '"years  hence  a  conversation  some 
thing  like  the  following  may  be  a  common 
occurrence  on  Broadway. 

' '  Hello,  Jack  !  where  have  you  been  keep 
ing  yourself  these  two  years  ? ' ' 

"Hello,  Bill!  oh,  I've  been  doing  leading 
business  at  the  Dewey  Theatre  in  Manila. 
Say,  it  is  one  of  the  handsomest  show  houses 
you  ever  saw.  They  have  a  slap-up  stock 
company,  the  leading  lady  being  a  beautiful 
Spanish  woman,  who  speaks  English  per 
fectly.  I  have  signed  for  another  season 
there,  but  thought  I'd  run  over  to  New  York 
and  see  the  boys.  I've  invested  my  earnings 
in  a  rice  plantation,  and  in  the  same  neigh- 
373 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

borhood  there  is  quite  a  colony  of  American 
actors.  What  have  you  been  doing,  Bill?  " 

"Oh,  I've  got  an  interest  in  the  Eureka 
Theatre  in  Honolulu.  Doing  well  ?  I  should 
say  we  are.  The  natives  like  our  company 
so  well  we  have  to  give  matinees  every  morn 
ing  as  well  as  afternoon.  Why  they  bring 
their  lunch  baskets  and  stay  right  through 
the  day,  till  after  the  evening  performance. 
We  issue  a  special  ticket  to  those  who  wish  to 
see  the  show  three  consecutive  times,  which 
costs  three  dollars.  You  ought  to  see  the 
floor  of  the  theatre  after  the  evening  per 
formance —  the  paper  bags,  egg  shells, 
crumbs,  banana  and  orange  skins,  and  all  of 
the  remnants  you  will  find  where  a  Sunday 
school  picnic  has  been  held.  But  it  pays. 
Say,  I've  been  married  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"  Indeed  1    My  congratulations,  old  boy." 

"Thanks.  Yes,  I  married  a  Hula-Hula 
dancer,  a  pure  Hawaiian;  pretty  as  a  gazelle, 
and  bright  as  a  humming  bird.  Yes,  we 
have  two  little  ones. ' ' 

"  Do  they  resemble  3*011,  Bill?  " 

"No,  they  favor  their  mamma:  the3*  look 
like  bronzes.  It's  quite  the  thing  for  the  pro 
fession —  that  is,  the  male  portion  of  it  —  to 
marry  native  women.  You  see,  they  don't 
374 


Theatrical  Expansion 

get  crochets  into  their  heads  and  run  away. 
How  are  the  girls  in  the  Philippines  ? ' ' 

"Out  of  sight,  but  they  are  somewhat 
peculiar.  For  instance,  they  smoke  cigars  as 
big  as  bananas,  and  a  fashionable  table  deli 
cacy  among  them  is  the  grasshopper.  But 
then  I  have  read  that  this  was  a  favorite  dish 
of  some  of  the  old  Roman  emperors.  We 
have  two  girls  in  our  stock  company  who  are 
genuine  Malays.  One  of  them  is  a  soubrette, 
and  she  could  teach  most  of  our  American  red 
stockings  a  thing  or  two  about  flirting.  By 
the  way,  I  just  met  Pete  Riker.  He  is  stage 
manager  at  the  General  Miles  Opera  House  in 
San  Juan,  Porto  Rico.  They  have  three  stock 
companies  at  this  house,  one  American,  one 
Spanish,  and  one  negro  —  so  they  cater  to  all 
classes  of  the  population.  Pete  showred  me 
some  of  his  press  notices  in  the  San  Juan 
Telegraph,  Post,  and  Bullet  in,  all  edited  by 
young  fellows  who  went  there  first  with  the 
United  States  army  as  correspondents.  He 
says  he  wouldn't  leave  Porto  Rico  for  the 
management  of  the  finest  theatre  in  Greater 
New  York.  He  likes  the  country,  the  cli 
mate,  the  people,  the  mode  of  living,  and  says 
he  will  be  a  rich  man  within  five  years, 
being  in  several  outside  '  specs '--  for  one 
375 


77ic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

thing,  a  soap  factory,  which  is  coining 
money." 

"Great  world,  ain't  it?" 

"  It's  the  hardest  world  I  ever  saw  to  get 
out  of  alive.  Ta.'ta. " 


376 


A  Proposed  Journal 

\VAS  dining  the  other  day  at  Delmonico's 
with  a  friend  who  informed  me  of  an  enter 
prise  of  his  own  conception,  which,  if  car 
ried  out,  will  be  as  unique  as  anything  new 
that  has  existed  under  the  sun  for  a  long 
time.  He  did  not  request  me  to  keep  mum 
over  it  (our  beverage  being  the  Widow  Cli- 
quot),  and  therefore  I  feel  no  delicacy  in 
giving  the  whole  scheme  away.  This  is  in 
substance  wrhat  he  said :  — 

' '  Do  you  know  there  is  a  big  chance  for  the 
new  journal  I  am  about  to  establish?  It  is  to 
be  a  weekly  organ  devoted  to  the  interests  of 
criminals,  murderers,  suicides,  and  people  of 
that  ilk." 

Mr.  A  -  —  saw  I  was  holding  my  breath  in 
ama/.ement,  so  he  paused  until  I  could  resume 
my  regular  respiration,  and  then  continued:  — 

"I  shall  call  this  journal  Crime.  Do  you 
think  that  will  be  taking?" 

I  nodded  equivocally. 
377 


7Yic  BO-&- Legged  Ghost 

"Yes,"  went  on  the  enthusiast,  "I  think 
I've  got  a  good  idea,  and  I  mean  to  work  it 
for  all  it's  worth.  You  see  there  is  a  large 
number  of  criminals  in  this  country  when  you 
come  to  count  them  up.  They've  never  had  a 
distinctive  organ,  though  plenty  of  papers  have 
supported  them  under  the  guise  of  this  goody- 
goody  business.  But  the  time  has  come  when 
the  professional  burglar,  pickpocket,  gambling 
sharp,  and  much  worse  individuals  than  they, 
should  have  a  representative  journal.  House 
breakers,  for  instance,  like  to  know  the  meth 
ods  by  which  members  of  their  guild  operate 
in  different  parts  of  the  country.  If  a  Boston 
thief  invent  a  new  jimmy,  his  brothers  in 
New  York  and  other  cities  want  to  know  how 
it  works. ' ' 

"How  will  you  get  your  information?"  I 
breathlessly  asked. 

"Partially  through  my  hosts  of  sub 
scribers,"  was  the  answer. 

"  I  shall  pay  my  contributors  for  special 
articles.  A  good  many  men  who  are  now 
languishing  in  state  prison  will  be  given  an 
opportunity  to  relate  their  experiences  and  to 
tell  about  the  big  jobs  with  which  they  have 
been  associated.  Then  I  shall  have  a  column 
or  more  devoted  to  criminal  statistics,  and  two 
378 


A    Proposed  Journal 

or  three  columns  of  personal  paragraphs  record 
ing  the  doings  of  crooks  who  have  won  a  repu 
tation  in  their  arduous  pursuits  and  do  not 
wish  to  lose  it.  I  expect  my  paper  will  reach 
a  circulation  of  five  hundred  thousand  at  least 
during  the  first  year  of  its  existence.  Why 
just  look  at  the  field!  I  do  not  expect  that  only 
out-and-out  murderers  and  outlaws  will  take 
it.  There  are  the  criminal  doctors  and  law 
yers,  who  themselves  aggregate  no  small 
number.  I  shall  provide  news  for  them 
as  well  as  for  the  shoplifters  and  bunco- 
steerers.  ' ' 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  of  being  arrested?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  shall  not  advocate 
criminal  principles,  but  only  chronicle  the 
opinions  of  those  who  practice  them.  Crime 
has  a  great  and  prosperous  career  before  it, 
and  you  may  be  sure  it  will  go  into  many 
homes  where  the  Outlook  and  Presbyterian 
Banner  are  never  seen." 

' '  Do  you  not  fear  the  influence  of  your 
journal  will  be  bad?  " 

"On  the  contrary,  I  believe  it  will  deter 
many  from  entering  upon  lives  of  crime  by 
pointing  out  the  difficulties  in  the  wray  of  suc 
cess  and  the  dangers  of  detection,  arrest,  and 
severe  punishment. ' ' 

379 


77ic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Since  the  above  interview,  Mr.  A —  -  has 
disappeared  from  the  haunts  that  have  known 
him  for  many  years.  In  a  letter  written  from 
New  Orleans,  not  long  ago,  to  an  old  crony  in 
this  city,  he  says:  "I  have  abandoned  niy 
journalistic  venture.  If  Crime  appears  it 
will  not  be  under  my  management.  I  am 
convinced  that  the  majority  to  whom  such 
a  journal  would  appeal  are  so  ignorant  as 
to  be  unable  to  read,  and  that  if  they  could 
read  they  would  not  appreciate  or  support 
it.  Theft  and  murder  seek  darkness,  and 
avoid  publicity.  In  short,  I  have  entirely 
changed  my  mind  in  regard  to  the  presum 
able  success  of  such  a  journal.  I  am  about 
to  sail  for  South  America  and  jump  into 
politics. ' ' 

Mr.  A —  -  has  doubtless  chosen  the  lesser  of 
two  evils,  and  I  for  one  applaud  his  choice. 
Perhaps  some  benighted  wretch  will  attempt 

the  experiment  conceived  by  Mr.  A .  But 

whoever  tries  it  will  probably  come  to  the  con 
clusion  that  suicide  is  preferable  to  editing  a 
paper  solely  confined  to  the  doings  and  events 
inspired  by  his  Satanic  Majesty. 


380 


Before  the  Wedding 

invitations  have  been  sent  out,  and  in 
a  few  days  the  bride-elect  is  to  be  led  to 
the  altar.  The  ushers  and  bridesmaids 
have  been  .selected,  the  trousseau  is  well 
under  way,  and  the  presents  begin  to  pour  in. 

Each  gift  is  just  what  she  wanted.  She 
fairly  revels  in  the  sight  of  the  best  man's 
card  lying  loose  in  the  delicate  satin-lined 
case. 

But  not  less  lovely  to  her  seems  the  little  set 
of  fruit  knives,  the  gift  of  a  friend  whose  fam 
ily  has  met  reverses  of  fortune  since  they 
were  in  the  young  ladies'  school  together, 
whilst  she  goes  into  transports  over  the  Japa 
nese  vase  a  near-by  neighbor  has  presented  in 
person. 

The  mail  brings  a  letter  from  the  fiancee's 
cousin,  a  captain  in  the  regular  army  stationed 
at  a  remote  post  in  Arizona.  In  the  letter  is 
a  check  for  fifty  dollars,  with  which  the  Cap 
tain  hopes  she  will  purchase  some  trifle  for 

First  published  in  Trutli. 


77ic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

her  own  personal  adornment.  Quite  over 
come  by  this  evidence  of  generosity,  she  sings 
his  praises  in  extravagant  terms  for  half  an 
hour. 

She  is  bothered  a  little  when  a  "  duplicate  " 
present  arrives,  but  consoles  herself  by  hoping 
that  it  can  be  exchanged  for  something  of 
equivalent  value. 

Another  ring  at  the  door.  This  time  it  is 
the  dressmaker  with  the  bridal  gown.  Again 
it  is  tried  on,  and  one  or  two  minor  alterations 
are  suggested.  The  dressmaker  heaves  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief  as  the  fiancee  struts  up  and 
down  her  boudoir,  voicing  her  satisfaction. 
Then  all  the  members  of  the  house  are  sum 
moned  to  survey  her  in  her  finery. 

Papa  is  so  nervous  over  it  all.  Every 
morning  and  every  evening  he  is  obliged  to 
walk  the  length  of  the  drawing-room  and 
back,  writh  his  daughter  on  his  arm,  keeping 
in  step  with  the  spirited  strains  of  the  wed 
ding  march,  rather  jerkily  rendered  on  the 
piano  by  an  elder  sister  who  has  determined 
to  live  a  life  of  single  blessedness. 

Papa  is  not  a  very  apt  pupil,  and  the  more 
he  practices  the  stately  step  the  less  certain  he 
feels  of  being  able  to  master  it  in  time  for  the 
momentous  event  —  only  a  few  days  off. 
382 


licforc   the   Wedding 

On  the  day  before  the  event,  rehearsal 
takes  place  in  the  church.  With  the  sonor 
ous  organ  to  guide  him,  papa  really  does 
splendidly.  He  is  to  carry  his  high  hat  in 
his  left  hand,  and  dispelled  now  are  all  his 
fears  as  to  what  he  shall  do  with  his  right 
hand,  which  he  has  been  instructed  to  tuck 
gracefully  in  the  breast  of  his  frock-coat. 

The  afternoon  rehearsal  affords  considerable 
enjoyment,  for  the  minister  is  witty  and  keeps 
the  bridal  party  in  a  merry  mood. 

Xight  comes,  and  mamma  is  anxious  for 
the  fiancee  to  retire  early,  so  she  will  be  sure 
not  to  miss  her  beauty  sleep.  But  the  latter 
protests  that  going  to  bed  so  early  —  on  this 
the  last  night  of  her  maidenhood  —  is  quite 
out  of  the  question. 

It  is  close  on  to  midnight  when  she  at  last 
withdraws  to  her  downy  couch.  But  for 
hours  sleep  eludes  her.  She  thinks  of  the  dear 
home  she  is  leaving  and  tears  fill  her  eyes. 

But  Jack  is  so  good  and  kind.  And  ere 
the  silver  shafts  of  morn  penetrate  the  cham 
ber,  the  fiancee  lies  in  the  arms  of  Morpheus, 
dreaming  affectionately  of  Jack,  who  is  com 
ing  to-morrow  to  bear  her  away  to  Hymen's 
Land. 


383 


A   Memory  of  John   Gilbert 

THE  venerable  figures  frequently  seen 
on  the  street  or  in  the  theatre,  none  was 
more  familiar  to  New  Yorkers  than 
the  late  John  Gilbert.  Among  ten  thousand 
men,  his  physiognomy  would  have  been  strik 
ing.  On  his  massive  countenance  a  benign 
ant  humor  always  rested;  he  seldom  traversed 
a  block  without  meeting  a  friend. 

One  of  the  most  affecting  occasions  of  his 
life  was  the  dinner  given  by  the  Lotos  Club 
to  Lester  Wallack,  at  which  Mr.  Gilbert  was 
present.  The  then  President  of  the  Club, 
Whitelaw  Reid,  opened  the  postprandial  ex 
ercises  with  a  graceful  speech,  outlining  the 
story  of  Mr.  Wallack 's  career  from  the  time 
he  left  England.  Mr.  Wallack  responded  with 
his  characteristic  ease  of  manner,  spicing  his 
remarks  with  an  anecdote  or  t\vo.  William 
Winter  read  an  original  poem.  Judge  Brady 
amused  the  company  with  stories,  and  several 
other  eminent  gentlemen  held  the  attention  of 
3*4 


A   Memory  of  Joliu  Gilbert 

the  L,otos- Eaters;  but  no  one  produced  so  deep 
an  impression  as  John  Gilbert. 

He  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Reid  as  the  Nes 
tor  of  old  English  comedy  in  America,  who 
suggested  that  Mr.  Wallack  had  been  assisted 
many  times  to  success  through  the  medium  of 
John  Gilbert.  In  response,  the  latter  acknowl 
edged  that  he  had  been  advised  with,  and  he 
added  :  "I  believe  I  can  yet  teach  that  young 
man  [pointing  to  Wallack]  a  trick  or  two." 

Later  on,  while  he  was  expressing  his  tender 
sense  of  friendship  for  Wallack,  his  voice 
broke,  his  lips  quivered,  his  eyes  filled,  and  for 
at  least  a  minute  words  failed  him.  It  was  a 
touching  spectacle.  He  endeavored  heroically 
to  regain  his  self-possession,  but  his  emotions 
were  carried  beyond  their  usual  range 
Scarcely  was  there  a  dry  eye  at  the  table. 
After  a  silence,  which  was  long  and  solemn, 
the  old  man's  voice  was  again  heard  —  this  time 
in  the  gruff  tones,  the  petulant  language,  and 
intolerant  manner  of  Sir  Anthony  Absolute  : 

' '  So  you  will  fly  out  !  Can't  you  be  cool 
like  me  ?  What  the  devil  good  can  passion  do  ? 
Passion  is  of  no  service,  you  impudent,  inso 
lent,  overbearing  reprobate  !  There,  you  sneer 
again  !  don't  provoke  me  !  but  you  rely  upon 
the  mildness  of  my  temper  —  you  do,  you  dog! 

25  •    385 


77ic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

you  play  upon  the  meekness  of  my  disposition  ! 
Yet  take  care  —  the  patience  of  a  saint  may  be 
overcome  at  last  !  but  mark  !  I  give  you  six 
hours  and  a  half  to  consider  of  this ;  if  you 
then  agree,  without  any  condition,  to  do  every 
thing  on  earth  that  I  choose,  why  —  confound 
you  !  I  may  in  time  forgive  you.  If  not, 
zounds  !  don't  enter  the  same  hemisphere  with 
me  !  don't  dare  to  breathe  the  same  air,  or  use 
the  same  light  with  me  !  but  get  an  atmosphere 
and  a  sun  of  your  own;  I'll  strip  you  of  your 
commission  ;  I'll  lodge  a  five-and- three  pence 
in  the  hands  of  trustees,  and  you  shall  live  on 
the  interest.  I'll  disown  you,  I'll  disinherit 
you,  I'll  unget  you  !  and  damn  me  !  if  ever  I 
call  you  Jack  again  !  " 

Mr.  Gilbert  never  delivered  the  passage  with 
more  telling  effect.  He  resumed  his  seat  amid 
a  salvo  of  cheers  and  bravos. 


386 


Ingenious  Floral  Novelties 


Boston  has  caught  the  craze  for 
>     original  floral  decorations. 

(VIV9 

Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Smith,  who  for 
several  years  have  surveyed  new  bonnets  from 
the  same  pew  in  church  and  who  always  really 
have  been  great  friends,  are  competing  with 
each  other  now  in  the  matter  of  novel  botan 
ical  effects. 

They  both  had  smilax  in  festoons  on  their 
mirrors,  but  it  has  disappeared,  and  the  cu 
cumber  vine  clingeth  closer  than  a  brother  to 
Mrs.  Smith's  mirror  and  the  erratic  clematis 
to  Mrs.  Brown's. 

A  young  lady  wThose  residence  is  on  Com 
monwealth  Avenue  recently  appeared  at  a 
small  evening  reception  in  a  dress  fabricated 
entirely  of  sulphur-tinted  Mermet  roses,  care 
fully  sewed  upon  a  delicate  framework 
molded  to  her  lissome  form.  It  was  esti 
mated  that  this  dress  cost  $400  ;  rather  a 


First  published  in  the  Boston  Sunday  Globe. 
387 


77ic  BOTU- Legged  GJwst 

costly  garment  —  as  it  could  be  worn  for  one 
night  only. 

At  a  brilliant  dinner  given  the  other  da}-  in 
Chelsea,  the  centre  of  the  table  held  a  large 
pumpkin  brought  from  Florida  expressly  for 
the  occasion.  The  pumpkin  was  crowned  by 
an  anchor  of  French  immortelles,  which  the 
hostess  had  purchased  a  few  days  before  in 
anticipation  of  a  relative's  funeral,  which  un 
fortunately  did  not  occur,  the  relative  having 
gone  into  a  cataleptic  state  instead  of  dying. 

An  interior  on  Beacon  Street  was  the  scene 
of  aristocratic  festivities  the  other  night.  The 
floors  of  the  salon  were  literally  covered  with 
Nephetos  roses,  violets,  and  white  carnations. 
Considerable  amusement  was  afforded  those 
who  watched  the  new-comers  wade  ankle  deep 
through  the  flowers,  whose  sweet  incense 
filled  every  nook  and  cranny. 

A  spinster  present,  whose  sense  of  the  fit 
ness  of  things  was  in  nowise  destroyed  by  age, 
remarked  whisperously  to  the  lady  of  the 
house:  "  My!  I  should  think  you  would  be 
afraid  of  spoiling  the  carpet."  "Oh,  there 
is  no  danger,  I  assure  you;  there  is  a  matting 
over  it,"  replied  the  haughty  hostess. 
388 


ous    Floral  Novelties 


Before  the  evening  was  over,  $1,000  worth 
of  choice  flowers  were  stamped  and  crushed 
into  tatters  tinder  cold  human  feet. 

At  a  fashionable  funeral  in  Maiden  recently, 
the  only  floral  decorations  consisted  of  a  rep 
resentation  of  a  normal  umbrella,  four  feet  in 
diameter,  made  of  white  roses.  A  very  appro 
priate  memento,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the 
deceased  had  for  a  long  term  of  years  sup 
ported  a  large  and  growing  family  upon  the 
profits  of  the  umbrella  business. 

Rose  arches  and  stuffed  doves  still  prevail 
to  some  extent,  although  a  Charlestown  widow 
recently  made  a  quaint  departure  by  substitut 
ing  for  the  stuffed  dove'  a  stuffed  crow. 

The  true  lover's  knot  design  still  holds  its 
own  on  the  upper  shelves  in  florists'  establish 
ments  —  subject  to  order. 

At  the  opera  last  week,  a  pretty  young  sales 
woman  \vore  in  her  hair  a  plain  Safrano  rose 
in  which  was  fastened  a  cluster  of  diamonds  in 
the  form  of  a  horseshoe.  On  a  seat  ahead  of 
her  sat  a  stout  lady  of  great  wealth,  who  wore 
a  natural  leaf  from  the  rubber  tree  in  her  bon 
net,  in  place  of  a  feather. 
3«9 


The  h 'o~jc- Legged  Ghost 

One  of  the  happiest  conceits  in  floral  dec 
orations  was  seen  at  a  wedding  breakfast 
awhile  since  in  Cambridge.  The  grass- 
green  tablespread  was  thickly  sprinkled  with 
daisies,  buttercups,  and  dandelions  in  upright 
position,  representing  a  springtime  pasture. 
To  add  to  the  illusion,  butterflies  and  bumble 
bees,  hanging  by  silken  threads  attached  to 
the  ceiling,  dangled  about  the  flowers. 

A  debutante  appeared  at  the  recent  police 
ball  with  a  basket  of  hyacinths  and  pond  lilies 
on  her  arm.  Only  the  handle  of  the  basket 
was  left  by  the  time  the  debutante  reached 
home. 

The  ornamentation  of  mantel  clocks  has 
become  very  popular.  A  young  lady  in 
Jamaica  Plain  not  long  ago  gave  a  party  in 
honor  of  an  old  flame  wrho  had  just  returned 
from  abroad.  The  young  lady  in  question 
decorated  the  family  clock,  a  marble-cased, 
eight-day  arrangement,  with  sheaves  of  wheat 
and  a  scythe  made  of  forget-me-nots  and 
laurel. 

Perhaps   the   cleverest    novelty    in   gentle 
men's  button-hole  bouquets  is  the  "  Leap-Year 
Token,"  as  it  has  been  designated.     It  makes 
390 


Ingenious  Floral  Novelties 

a  comparatively  cheap  and  desirable  souvenir 
for  young  ladies  to  present  their  male  friends. 
It  is  made  of  ivy  and  terra  cotta  chrysanthe 
mums  to  represent  an  oyster  on  the  half  shell. 

A  bouquet  thus  constructed  is  rather  larger 
than  the  regulation  size,  but  it  looks  very 
neat  and  suggestive. 

Another  style,  especially  intended  as  a  leap 
year  gift  from  the  ladies,  conceived  by  a  fair 
damsel  in  Brookline,  is  the  miniature  schooner 
surmounted  by  a  tortuous  pretzel  of  Jacque 
minot  roses  and  dun-colored  maple  leaves. 


39 * 


Cook's  Monday  Lecture 

prelude  to  Rev.  Joseph  Cook's  Mon 
day  noon  lecture  in  Tremont  Temple 
(Boston),  on  the  subject,  "Law  and 
Lawlessness,"  was  followed  by  a  philosoph 
ical  discourse  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

He  said  that  all  science  in  our  time  is  build 
ing  an  altar  to  an  unknown  god.  There  are 
sacrificial  tributes  of  wood  and  flesh  placed 
upon  it,  but  the  unknown  god  will  some  day 
be  declared  to  us  as  a  personal  god.  Our 
nineteenth  century  is  carving  on  the  marble 
of  science  the  names  of  the  agnostic  and 
atheist,  yet  on  the  finished  block  will  be  in 
scribed  the  devoutest  names  at  last,  unified 
like  the  hundred  names  on  Ecbar's  tomb. 

Mr.  Cook  was  not  able  to  assert  that  the 
existence  of  God  is  a  self-evident  truth;  it  is 
a  native  belief,  an  ultimate  idea,  a  spontaneous 
faith,  an  axiomatic  certainty  of  the  soul. 
There  is  a  distinction  to  be  made  between 
a  self-evident  proposition  and  a  self-evident 
problem.  A  straight  line  is  the  shortest  dis- 
392 


Cook's  Monday  Lecture 

tance  between  two  points;  that  is  a  self-evi 
dent  proposition,  because  it  does  not  require 
special  analysis.  That  angles  formed  by 
straight  lines  that  intersect  each  other  are 
equal  is  a  self-evident  problem,  which  does 
require  a  little  analysis  to  discover  the  reason. 
"An  absolute  being  has  no  necessary  de 
pendence  on  any  other/1  This  definition  is 
approved  by  the  highest  agnostics.  If  you 
can  overthrow  the  definition  of  materialism, 
you  can  dethrone  atheism  and  all  its  rami 
fications.  As  I  have  said  before,  a  good 
definition  should  contain  no  metaphors  or 
figures  of  speech.  Now,  Alexander  Bain 
has  given  a  definition  of  a  Double-Sided 
Somewhat.  What's  a  What?  What's  the 
face  of  a  What,  and  what  is  the  face  of  a 
Double-Sided  Somewhat?  In  the  universe  it 
is  known  that  there  is  mind  and  matter,  the 
latter  having  extension,  color,  weight,  and 
inertia.  On  one  side  of  this  Somewhat,  Pro 
fessor  Bain  fixes  the  spiritual,  and  on  the 
other  side  the  physical,  and  he  accounts  for 
the  union  of  the  two  by  what  he  terms  a  sys 
tem  of  close  succession.  Is  that  clear,  or  is  it 
Scotch  mist?  Materialism  has  no  foundation 
on  the  heights. 


393 


A  Literary  Lunch  Fiend 

little  snob  just  crossing  Twenty - 
Third  Street,"  said  a  prominent  club 
man  to  the  writer,  ' '  is  one  of  the  clev 
erest  bachelors  in  New  York.  He  has  been  a 
member  of  my  club  for  years,  and  he  spends  a 
good  deal  of  time  there,  but  I  do  not  feel  as 
though  I  were  half  acquainted  with  him. 
They  say  he  writes  a  considerable  quantity  of 
matter  for  the  daily  and  weekly  press.  He 
dresses  in  good  taste,  and  evidently  has  his 
own  tailor,  but  I  doubt  if  he  has  much  ready 
money.  I  never  saw  him  spend  a  cent  at  the 
club  in  my  life.  He  never  declines  a  treat 
and  never  offers  one.  But  this  man,  who  is 
confidentially  known  among  us  as  the  Literary 
Lunch  Fiend,  lives  in  clover  all  the  while,  and 
I'll  tell  you  how  he  does  it. 

' '  His  earnings  from  his  pen  are  perhaps 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year.  A  good  two- 
thirds  of  this  he  puts  into  a  swell  dinner,  to 
which  he  invites  about  four  hundred  people, 
many  of  whom  are  leaders  in  society.  Of 
394 


A   Literary  Lunch  fiend 

course,  in  return,  all  of  his  guests  invite  him 
to  their  houses  to  dine,  and  thus  he  is  sure 
of  a  first-class  banquet  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  times  per  annum.  Being  a  bache 
lor,  people  invite  him  more  than  once  during 
the  year  to  their  tables ;  and  when  his  in 
vitations  for  the  same  dates  conflict,  he 
writes  his  declinations  in  such  a  way  as  to 
keep  people  reminded  that  though  he  cannot 
be  present  on  the  occasion  designated,  he 
might  be  able  to  accept  a  similar  invitation  in 
the  near  future. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  lives  on  the  fat  of  the  laud 
and  is  very  popular.  Invitations  to  his  annual 
feast  are  much  coveted,  and  his  presence  at 
the  dinners  given  by  those  constituting  this 
set  is  deemed  especially  essential.  He  is  an 
inveterate  flatterer  of  beautiful  women  and 
gifted  men,  who  swallow  his  oily  cajoleries 
as  from  a  chalice  containing  the  nectar  of 
the  gods.  There  is  probably  not  another 
man  in  the  metropolis  who,  like  him,  could 
be,  year  in  and  year  out,  a  successful  Lite 
rary  Lunch  Fiend." 


395 


Rollicking   Rice 

in  Paris,  once  on  a  time,  Fanny 
Rice  visited  a  celebrated  cafl  chantant 
and  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
original  interpreter  of  the  amusing  character 
sketch  song  called  "The  Drummer,"  an  Am 
erican  version  of  which  she  subsequently  in 
troduced  in  her  new  play.  She  wore,  as  part 
of  the  bizzarre  costume  of  the  character, 
shoes  of  enormous  size.  The  first  night  she 
appeared  in  this  novelty,  which  was  'essen 
tially  French  in  its  quality,  Miss  Rice  found 
her  spacious  brogans  more  masters  of  the 
situation  than  she  was  herself. 

She  made  her  entree  all  right,  went  through 
her  grotesque  impersonations  with  entire  suc 
cess,  finished  her  song  and  was  about  making 
her  exit  amid  a  storm  of  applause  from  the 
audience  when  those  fatal  shoes  interfered. 

The  shoes  themselves  were  in  a  thoroughly 

demoralized  condition.     They  seemed  desirous 

of   being  estranged   from   their  owner.      But 

with  the  quickness  of  thought  Miss  Rice  rose 

396 


Rollicking  Rice 

to  the  occasion  as  well  as  in  mid  air,  and  van 
ished  like  another  Ariel,  bearing  in  her  arms 
her  rebellious  shoes  to  that  remote  and  mysteri 
ous  region  known  to  the  public  as  ' '  Behind 
the  Scenes,"  singing  in  her  most  animated 
style  :  — 

Oh,  you  see  in  me  a  maiden, 

Whose  heart  has  flown  away 
To  him  who  beats  the  big  brass  drum, 

That  man  across  the  way. 

Than  all  the  players  in  the  band, 

He  gives  one  more  delight ; 
He  whacks  the  drum,  and  hits  so  hard, 

It's  simply  "out  of  sight." 

CHORUS  —  Ta,  ra,  ra,  boom,  boom! 
Ta,  ra,  ra,  boom,  boom  ! 


397 


A   Slight   Family  Jar 

Y  had  been  married  about  a  vear.   Thev 
had  been  happier  than  most  young-  mar- 

>'e  I  a> 

ried  people,  because  they  had  been  madly 
in  love  from  the  outset.  But  one  day  there 
was  a  misunderstanding.  They  attended  a 
matinee,  she  being  dressed  in  a  jaunty  poke 
bonnet  trimmed  with  red.  Lawrence  Trebolyn 
worked  himself  up  to  an  extreme  point  of  dis 
satisfaction  with  her,  because  of  the  red  trim 
mings  on  her  bonnet,  which  he  had  never  seen 
before.  He  waited  impatiently  until  the  first 
act  was  over,  and  then  said  to  her  in  a  whis 
per  :  "  Millicent,  I  thought  you  had  better 
taste  than  to  wear  such  headgear  as  you  now 
have  on." 

It  was  the  first  unkind  or  reproachful  utter 
ance  she  had  ever  heard  from  him,  and  it 
stung  her  feelings.  She  looked  up  at  him 
wonderingly  and  asked :  ' '  What  is  there 
about  my  bonnet  that  offends  you?" 

"The  red  on  it,"  he  answered  harshly, 
but  in  a  voice  not  audible  to  those  in  ad- 
398 


A    Slight  family   Jar 

jacent  seats.  "Only  women  without  char 
acter  and  respectability  wear  that  color  on 
their  heads." 

Manifestly  untrue  was  his  remark,  as  well 
as  unjust.  It  brought  tears  to  Millicent's  eyes. 
She  had  no  heart  to  remain  where  she  would 
attract  attention,  and  positively  no  interest 
\vhatever  in  the  play.  She  arose,  saying:  "  I 
am  going  home.  Will  you  accompany  me  out 
of  the  theatre  ?  ' ' 

He  followed  her  without  a  wrord.  Lawrence 
could  scarcely  have  said  anything  that  would 
have  humiliated  his  wife  more.  She  showed 
the  agony  in  her  heart  on  her  face.  But  she 
was  very  brave. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said,  as  he  handed  her 
'into  a  hansom,  "  if  you  have  the  bull's  repug 
nance  to  red.  I  wyas  innocent  of  its  signifi 
cance —  on  a  woman's  head." 

Lawrence  lacked  the  mood  and  inclination 
to  ask  her  to  forgive  him  for  his  ungallant 
conduct.  He  stood  in  his  own  light,  but  his 
false  pride  and  obstinacy  prevented  him  from 
offering  the  amende  honorable.  And  thus  his 
words  led  to  a  quarrel  which  began  in  real 
earnest  at  last. 

' '  What  on  earth  possessed  you  to  adopt 
that  color  anyway,"  demanded  Lawrence,  with 
399 


Gliost 


insinuating  brusquerie.      "You  are  not  a  car 
dinal,  are  you  ?  " 

"No,"  was  Millicent's  candid  answer,  "I 
am  not.  If  I  were,  it  would  be  many  a  long 
day  before  I  should  absolve  you  for  your  treat 
ment  of  me." 

"Now,  you're  trying  to  be  cute,"  snarled 
Lawrence.  "  But  your  manner  is  far  from 
being  wifely.  Once  more,  Madame,  I  ask 
where  did  you  get  the  idea  that  red  on  your 
hat  is  proper  to  be  worn  publicly  ?  '  ' 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  know,"  put  in  the 
tearful  wife,  "from  your  own  first  cousin, 
Sybil  Nugger,  who  is  trying  to  become  a  star 
actress  on  the  strength  of  her  social  preten 
sions.  " 

"Ah,  ha,"  muttered  Lawrence,  the  ha 
being  very  subdued,  as  though  his  heart  had 
missed  one  regular  pulsation.  "Then  Sybil 
advised  you  to  wear  red  on  your  hat,  did 
she?" 

'  '  Yes.  You  know  very  well  she  is  stuck 
on  red  in  ever)Tthing,  as  her  own  hats  and 
costumes  prove.  '  ' 

'  '  Where  did  you  learn  to  use  the  word 
'  stuck  '  in  that  connection  ?  '  ' 

"  From  your  cousin  Sybil  —  your  mother's 
sister's  own  daughter.     There  !  " 
400 


A    Slight  Family   Jar 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Sybil  uses  that 
sort  of  language?  " 

"I  do,  most  emphatically.  She  puts  on 
more  airs  before  men  than  a  princess  of  the 
royal  blood,  but  when  she  is  alone  with  me 
she  uses  more  slang  than  a  Bowery  soubrette. 
And  yet  you  class  her  among  the  salt  of  the 
earth  because  she  is  your  cousin  and  pretends 
to  be  'in  the  swim,'  as  }-ou  term  it.  I  may 
be  a  country  girl,  from  the  underbrush  dis 
tricts  of  Pennsylvania,  where  you  found  me, 
and  whence  you  would  extricate  me  to  be 
come  your  wife,  but  I  think,  with  my  olive 
complexion,  as  you  thousands  of  times  have 
called  it,  and  my  brunette  eyes  and  hair,  a 
red  hat  looks  as  well  on  me  as  it  does  on 
Sybil  Xugger,  who  is  a  strawberry  blonde  of 
a  very  ordinary  type." 

"  Say,  Millicent,  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  the 
dramatic  critic  of  Every  Monday  though  Some 
times  Tuesday,  has  sent  me  tickets  for  the 
Yorktown  Theatre  at  which  the  first  perform 
ance  of  the  '  Human  Heart  Upside  Down  '  is 
to  be  presented  to-night.  Sybil  is  cast  for  the 
heart.  She  is  to  be  dressed  in  red  in  every 
act.  Will  you  not  go  and  lend  her  sympathy 
by  wearing  your  red  hat?  She  is  bound  to 
see  you  in  the  box,  and  your  encouraging 
26  401 


The  Bo"jo-Legged  Ghost 

smile  is  the  only  one  she  will  probably  receive 
from  the  audience." 

"  I  will  attend  the  theatre  in  my  red  bon 
net,"  replied  Millicent,  "for  Sybil's  sake,  but 
not  for  yours. ' ' 


402 


The  Art  of   Picking  a  Bone 

§WEN  MEREDITH,  the  poet  of  modern  ele 
gance,  never  wrote  truer  words  than  the 
following:  — 

"We  may  live  without  poetry,  music,  and  art; 

We  may  live  without  conscience  and  live  without 
heart ; 

WTe  may  live  without  friends  ;  we  may  live  with 
out  books, 

But  civilized  man  cannot  live  without  cooks. 

He  may  live  without  books  —  what  is  knowledge 
but  grieving? 

He  may  live  without  hope,  what  is  hope  but  de 
ceiving  ? 

He  may  live  without  love  —  what  is  passion  but 
pining? 

But  where  is  the  man  that  can  live  without  din 
ing?" 

It  may  be  said  with  equal  truth  that  com 
paratively  few  of  those  who  dine  luxuriously 
know  how  to  dine  really  well.  Usually  the 
members  of  a  family  do  not  show  more  differ 
ence  in  mental  temperament  than  they  do  in 
their  taste  in  edibles.  But  it  is  fortunate  per- 
4°3 


The  L> 'o~v- Legged  Ghost 

haps  for  the  economy  of  the  cuisine  that  this 
variation  in  the  family  palate  exists.  Thus 
Bella,  who  is  passionately  fond  of  boiled  tur 
nips,  may  be  entitled  to  a  double  portion  be 
cause  her  sister  Stella  abhors  them.  On  the 
other  hand,  Stella  has  a  great  fondness  for 
fried  parsnips,  and  these  Bella  detests.  Thus 
is  afforded  the  opportunity  of  exchange  be 
tween  the  two  sisters  when  both  these  edibles 
are  prepared  for  a  meal.  This  line  of  consid 
eration,  however,  is  a  digression  from  the  sub 
ject  which  I  set  out  to  discuss. 

It  has  been  remarked  by  some  writer  that  a 
man  who  is  enjoying  a  bird  and  a  bottle  can 
not  furnish  a  better  indication  of  intelligence 
and  elegant  breeding  than  by  holding  the 
bones  in  his  fingers  and  picking  them  there 
from  at  the  proper  time.  Doubtless,  to  be 
nice  about  it,  one  must  know  intuitively  when 
it  is  the  proper  time  to  pick  up  the  bone  in 
one's  fingers.  This  scarcely  would  be  before 
the  quail,  the  snipe,  the  woodcock,  or  what 
ever  the  bird  be,  has  been  umvinged  and  un- 
legged  and  divested,  as  well  as  practicable, 
without  great  effort,  of  meat,  with  a  knife  and 
fork. 

Handling  game  in  one's  fingers,  too,  should 
be  dependent  upon  its  size.  It  would  not  be 
404 


The  Art  of  Picking  a  Bone 

entirely  elegant  to  nibble  at  a  huge  duck  wing 
from  the  hand.  But,  in  spite  of  all  that  the 
wiseacres  in  etiquette  may  say,  a  man  is  justi 
fied  in  many  circumstances  in  holding  any 
delicate  game  in  his  fingers,  while  eating  it. 
His  natural  regard  for  appearances  would 
prevent  him  from  such  manipulation  at  a 
State  dinner  or  even  at  a  formal  one  where 
ladies  were  present.  But  at  all  other  times 
he  will,  if  he  enjoys  a  bird  and  knows  how  to 
get  at  its  sweetness,  take  it  up  without  fuss 
in  his  fingers  and  proceed  to  clean  the  bones. 
Your  true  epicure  understands  that  the  meat 
nearest  the  bone  is  the  most  delicious,  and  the 
jelly-like  substance  and  marrow  in  the  bones 
of  small  birds  cannot  be  obtained  with  a  knife 
add  fork.  Krgo,  a  man's  teeth,  which,  let  us 
hope  are  white  and  cared  for,  must  come  into 
requisition.  Thus  sportsmen  eat.  Thus  Sam 
Ward  and  his  disciples  ate.  Thus  the  well- 
bred  citizen  of  the  world  who  is  compelled  to 
live  at  a  club,  because  he  has  no  home,  eats. 
If  he  has  a  home  he  eats  in  the  same  way, 
except  when  entertaining  fastidious  lady 
guests. 

When    a    man    is   allowed   the  privilege  of 
picking  a  bird  in  his  hands,  he  becomes  inter 
esting    and    communicative.      He    tells    those 
4°5 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

with  whom  he  is  dining  genuine  funny 
stories.  He  winks  at  the  waiter  furtively  to 
bring  another  bottle  of  the  Widow.  In  short, 
he  is  preeminently  satisfied  with  himself  and 
everybody  else.  If  that  same  man  had  been 
obliged  to  forego  the  privilege  of  holding 
those  bones  in  his  fingers,  he  would  have  been 
inwardly  miserable  and  outwardly  sullen,  with 
a  manner  which  would  have  indicated  his 
indifference  to  the  merits  of  the  repast  —  that 
is,  if  he  had  a  good  appetite  and  was  a  lover 
of  birds. 

The  frequent  spectacle  of  a  man  is  pre 
sented  who,  in  holding  a  part  of  a  bird  in  his 
hand,  tries  to  impress  a  friend  across  the  table 
with  his  finical  grace.  He  brings  a  ring  into 
conspicuous  prominence,  perhaps,  b)T  the  way 
in  which  he  holds  his  fingers  —  as  though  any 
little  tricks  of  matter  could  apologize  for  this 
fashion  of  finishing  a  bird,  the  best  justifica 
tion  of  which  is  a  gracious,  appreciative,  and 
unaffected  absorption  in  the  enjoyment  itself. 
Not  that  a  man,  while  thus  engaged,  need  be 
reticent  or  needlessly  engrossed,  but  he  should 
show  himself  a  master  of  the  suggestiveness 
of  the  picture  he.presents  with  a  bone  in  his 
fingers,  and  remember  that  no  artificial  affect 
ations  are  required  to  heighten  or  reduce  the 
406 


Tlie  Art  of  Picking  a  Bone 

effect.  A  man  who  eats  a  bird  with  a  knife 
and  fork  and  considers  it  vulgar  to  eat  the  re 
maining  and  best  part  out  of  his  fingers  is  an 
unfortunate  man.  There  is  something  lacking 
in  his  make-up  if  he  has  not  learned  the  art 
and  pleasure  of  picking  a  bone.  Not  like 
Sydney  Smith's  ideal  epicure  can  he  say  after 
a  bird  dinner:  "Fate  cannot  harm  me;  I 
have  dined  to-day." 

As  for  the  ladies  picking  bones  held  in  their 
fingers,  I  do  not  see  why  they  should  not 
claim  at  least  that  right  of  man.  Most  ladies 
themselves  object  to  it,  and  when  you  see  one 
who  does  not,  you  can  make  up  your  mind 
that  she  is  sufficiently  above  a  type  to  be 
ranked  as  a  personality.  L,adies  should  bear 
in  mind  that  this  is  a  superb  way  to  show 
off  to  advantage  their  diamond  and  emerald 
rings.  The  delicate  leg  of  a  plover  matches 
diamonds  very  nicely  when  in  the  pink-nailed 
fingers  of  a  damsel  or  matron. 

After  a  game  dinner  ladies  have  been 
known  to  regret  the  fact  that  they  did  not 
pick  a  bone  or  two  like  their  husbands, 
brothers,  or  lovers.  It  seemed  at  the  table 
so  natural  and  so  easy  to  resist  the  tempta 
tion  ;  but  three  hours  later  it  seems  such  a 
silly  thing  to  have  refused  to  do.  The  New 
407 


The  Bo'jo-Lcgged  Ghost 

York  girl  who,  while  visiting  a  family,  will 
eat  scarcely  enough  to  keep  a  humming  bird 
alive  will,  with  a  girl  companion,  go  into  a 
restaurant  while  out  shopping,  and  not  only 
order  but  eat  a  substantial  dinner.  If  she 
orders  a  bird  you  may  be  sure  she  will  pick 
the  bones  in  the  most  entrancing  style.  It 
will  make  any  one's  mouth  water  to  watch 
her.  But  at  home  before  guests,  or  away 
from  home  as  a  guest,  she  is  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  creature  in  regard  to  eating.  Before 
society  she  poses  as  an  ethereal  creature,  to 
whom  earthly  sustenance  is  a  desecration  ; 
but  in  a  restaurant  she  will  eat  like  a  half- 
starved  tramp.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  this 
class  of  young  ladies  can  pick  a  bone  to  the 
queen's  taste. 


408 


The  Dwarfs  of  the  Jossgrund 

A  Bavarian  Legend 

fTjfHE    industrious    dwarfs    were    wandering. 
%!$     They  had  rendered  excellent  .services  to 

(oj  a) 

men  ;  had  toiled  for  them  like  slaves, 
sowing  and  reaping,  demolishing  and  rebuild 
ing,  quite  as  everyone  desired,  and  in  turn 
they  had  gained  naught  save  a  bitter  con 
viction  of  the  truth  of  the  old  proverb  that 
"  Ingratitude  is  the  world's  reward." 

For  this  reason  the  dwarfs  were  wandering. 
They  no  longer  wished  to  witness  this  ingrat 
itude,  preferring  to  repair  to  some  solitude 
and  abandon  all  intercourse  with  men,  whom 
otherwise  they  would  have  esteemed  and  re 
mained  among. 

In  the  course  of  their  journey  they  reached 
the  Spessart  (Bavarian  Hills),  and  finally 
came  to  the  Jossgrund.  At  that  time  few 
people  lived  in  the  Spessart,  and  for  many 
days  the  dwarfs  trudged  onward  without  see 
ing  a  human  habitation.  The  small  quantity 
409 


The  B oiv -Legged  Ghost 

of  food  they  started  with  was  soon  consumed. 
The  cold  dark  shadows  of  the  forest  retarded 
the  growth  of  eatable  roots  and  fruits,  and  so 
the  dwarfs  suffered  bitter  want.  With  diffi 
culty  they  proceeded  on  a  little  further  and 
at  last,  exhausted  by  hunger  and  fatigue, 
they  lay  dowrn  in  the  dense  heather,  expect 
ing  starvation  soon  to  come  and  relieve  their 
miser}r. 

A  peasant  returning  home  with  a  bundle 
of  wood  happened  to  pass  them.  His 
foot  touched  one  of  the  little  men,  and 
nearly  crushed  him.  The  peasant's  fright  was 
changed  to  pity  when  he  perceived  their 
wretched  condition.  It  was  not  necessary  for 
him  to  ask  them  what  they  desired,  for  pallid 
famine  was  written  on  their  pinched  faces. 
He  requested  them  to  make  one  last  effort  and 
follow  him.  He  was  a  poor  man  himself  with 
several  little  children,  but  he  promised  to  pro 
cure  some  food  for  them,  and  assured  them 
that  there  was  more  room  in  his  cellar  than  he 
required. 

The  dwarfs,  inspired  by  this  hope  of  succor, 
followed  the  peasant  to  his  humble  hut,  which 
happily  was  not  far  off.  In  the  empty  cellar 
the  dwarfs  made  themselves  as  comfortable  as 
they  could,  the  peasant  sharing  with  them  his 
410 


The  Dwarfs  of  the   Jossgrund 

rough  fare,  and  in  a  few  days  they  recovered 
their  former  strength  and  vigor. 

\Yhen  the  dwarfs  left  the  cellar  for  the  first 
time  and  saw  how  the  peasant  was  obliged  to 
work,  to  cultivate  his  corn  on  a  little  piece  of 
stony  ground,  to  dig  out  the  stumps,  to  cut 
grass  for  his  lean  kine,  they  forgot  all  the 
wrong  that  men  had  done  them,  and  their  in 
tention  to  journey  to  some  distant  uninhabited 
clime,  and  they  said  to  the  peasant:  "You 
have  given  us  food  and  shelter  and  we  wish  to 
reciprocate  by  helping  you  in  your  farming. 
You  will  be  more  than  satisfied  with  us,  but 
you  must  remain  kind  and  friendly  and  con 
siderate  to  us  as  you  have  been.  We  are  not 
so  weak  as  we  appear.  All  of  us  together 
have  but  one  will,  and  therefore  our  united 
strength  surpasses  that  of  a  giant." 

The  peasant  was  not  inclined  to  believe  in 
the  giant-like  power  of  the  dwarfs,  but  he  re 
flected  that  if  they  proved  of  no  great  use  they 
would  prove  of  no  great  harm  to  him,  and  so 
accepted  their  offer.  During  that  day  the 
dwarfs  rested  quietly  in  the  cellar,  but  at 
nightfall  they  became  as  industrious  as  ants. 

After  that,  every  morning  when  the  peasant 
stepped  out  of  his  hut,  he  found  before  the 
door  a  large  heap  of  the  best  grass  that  grew 
4n 


Tkc  Bow- Legged  Ghost 

on  his  farm,  or  a  bundle  of  wood.  He  ob 
served,  too,  how  the  swamp  was  being  trans 
formed  into  a  beautiful  meadow,  and  how  the 
forest  was  being  cleared.  It  remained  for  him 
only  to  plant  the  seed,  and  a  rich  harvest  would 
be  certain.  Now  he  easily  found  means  to 
procure  more  and  better  cattle,  for  which  the 
dwarfs  built  him  a  stable.  A  little  later  the 
harvest  yielded  so  abundantly  that  it  was  suffi 
cient  to  fill  ten  barns  like  the  peasant's.  So 
the  indefatigable  little  men  set  to  work  and 
built  a  large  one,  larger  than  any  of  which  the 
peasant  had  ever  dreamed.  And  now  his 
house  seemed  to  him  too  small  for  his  more 
fastidious  requirements,  but  he  had  only  to 
hint  his  desires  to  the  dwarfs,  who  erected  two 
palatial  dwellings  for  him. 

Thus  the  peasant  became  the  richest  man  in 
the  Spessart.  He  employed  many  servants, 
more  in  fact  than  could  find  anything  to  do, 
and  lived  like  a  prince.  The  dwrarfs  still  lived 
in  the  cellar  of  the  old  hut,  contented  with 
their  meagre  rations  so  long  as  their  herculean 
labors  remained  unfinished.  Several  years 
elapsed,  and  finally,  when  the  dwarfs  found 
nothing  more  to  do  for  the  peasant,  they 
sought  his  presence  and  asked  if  he  would 
permit  them  to  build  a  house  for  themselves 
412 


77i e  Dwarfs  of  the   Jossgrund 

on  his  estate,  as  the  cellar  was  dark  and  un 
comfortable. 

Alas  !  prosperity  had  rendered  the  peasant's 
heart  hard  and  unsympathetic.  He  scolded 
the  dwarfs  and  sneeringly  asked  what  they 
would  do  with  a  house.  He  declared  there 
was  no  room  for  it  on  his  estate.  If  they 
had  been  able  to  live  in  the  cellar  till  now, 
he  thought  they  could  live  there  longer.  To 
build  a  new  house  would  be  foolish  extrava 
gance.  Such  little  men  did  not  need  a  large 
house,  and  if  they  did  not  like  the  cellar  any 
more  they  could  leave  it  ;  he  had  fed  them 
long  enough  any  way. 

The  dwarfs  were  greatly  surprised  by  this 
answer,  which  they  had  not  in  the  least 
expected,  and  this  fresh  evidence  of  human 
ingratitude  soon  awakened  their  former 
grudge  against  men.  They  left  the  cellar  at 
once,  and  that  night  they  entered  the  peas 
ant's  barn  and  carried  away  his  corn,  which, 
not  wishing  to  destroy,  they  ground  at  a 
neighboring  mill  and  distributed  the  meal 
among  the  poor.  Then  they  set  fire  to  all  of 
the  peasant's  buildings,  and  all  of  his  goods 
perished  in  the  flames.  Into  the  fields,  wrhich 
they  had  so  carefully  cultivated,  they  cast  so 
many  stones  that  five  years'  labor  would  not 
413 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

have  cleared  them.  The  irrigating  ditches  in 
the  meadows  were  so  clogged  up  that  the  old 
noisome  morass  would  again  develop. 

As  he  once  had  been,  the  peasant  was  now 
a  poor  man,  possessing  nothing  but  his 
crumbling  old  hut,  a  few  waste  acres,  and  a 
few  famishing  cows.  If  by  the  same  means 
he  could  have  become  rich  again,  he  doubtless 
would  have  been  less  ungrateful  and  callous 
to  the  discomfort  and  deserts  of  those  around 
him.  But  it  was  part  of  his  lesson  to  be  de 
prived  of  the  chance  to  do  what  it  had  been  so 
easy  for  him  to  do  once. 

The  dwarfs  resumed  their  wanderings,  and 
where  they  now  are  no  one  knows. 


414 


A   Needful   Invention 

fHOSE  in  the  administrative  service  in 
England  make  it  their  duty  to  render 
the  social  and  official  cares  of  the  Queen 
and  her  son,  Albert,  as  light  as  possible. 
But  in  spite  of  their  efforts  in  this  direction, 
her  Majesty  and  the  Prince  have  a  great  deal 
to  do  in  the  course  of  a  year. 

Perhaps  no  one  will  be  able  to  devise  a 
plan  by  means  of  which  Victoria  or  her  legit 
imate  successor  shall  be  free  from  giving  and 
attending  certain  State  receptions,  but  it  does 
seem  as  though  the  laying  of  corner-stones 
and  the  opening  of  dog,  poultry,  and  other 
shows  might  properly  be  shifted  upon  other 
shoulders  than  those  whose  exalted  dignity 
has  so  often  been  humiliated  to  perform  these 
mechanical  offices. 

What  month  of  the  twelve  slips  around  that 
does  not  see  some  new  park,  association,  or 
other  enterprise  opened  in  some  part  of  Eng 
land  ?  For  proof  of  this  just  glance  over  the 
columns  of  any  English  newspaper.  It  is  not 

4*5 


Bow-Legged  Ghost 


easy  to  estimate  the  amount  of  trouble  some 
times  experienced  by  those  who  are  invited  to 
clinch  the  occasion,  so  to  speak,  by  their 
presence.  The  continual  opening  of  some 
thing  keeps  the  Queen  or  her  representatives 
on  the  jump  most  of  the  time.  If  Yankee 
sympathy  is  worth  anything  at  all  to  her 
Majesty,  she  has  mine,  with  the -assurances  of 
my  most  distinguished  consideration. 

It  is  entirely  wrong  to  deprive  the  Sover 
eign  of  Great  Britain  and  Empress  of  the 
Indias,  and  her  formerly  somewhat  volatile 
heir  to  the  Crown,  of  that  exclusive  domestic 
peace  from  which  the  commonest  subject  is 
not  exempt.  Many  of  us  unsophisticated 
Americans  have  an  idea  that  a  queen,  or 
prince,  like  Albert,  has  a  very  soft  time  of  it. 
But  the  fact  is,  monarchs  and  members  of 
royal  families  are  the  hardest-working  people 
in  the  world.  Some  great  wrriter  has  aptly 
said  :  "  Men  tire  themselves  out  in  pursuit  of 
rest,"  —  an  axiom  not  less  true  than  the  one 
just  preceding  it. 

To-day,  we  will  say,  an  industrial  exhibition 
is  to  be  opened  in  York;  to-morrow,  a  new 
bridge  at  Manchester;  day  after  to-rnorrow,  a 
baby  show  at  L,eeds,  and  so  on  throughout  the 
calendar.  Now,  would  it  not  be  a  great  sav- 
416 


A  Needful  Invention 

ing  of  executive  energy  and  time  if  a  patent 
duplex  exhibition  and  park-opener  and  corner 
stone  layer  could  be  invented  and  adopted  by 
the  English  Government?  Of  course,  this 
invention  would  have  to  be  in  the  shape  of  a 
man,  capable  at  a  moment's  notice  of  making 
a  neat  and  appropriate  speech.  Chauncey  M. 
Depew  would  be  just  the  man  for  the  purpose, 
if  he  did  not  have  a  little  other  business,  and 
Xew  York  did  not  have  a  copyright  on  him. 

This  patent  duplex  exhibition  and  park- 
opener  and  corner-stone  layer  should  be  a 
man  who  is  familiar  with  the  local  history  of 
every  hamlet  in  the  United  Kingdom,  so  that 
his  allusions  would  be  opportune  and  accurate. 
Such  a  man  should  be  pensioned,  like  the 
poet  laureate,  and  be  ready  for  every  occasion 
upon  which  something  had  to  be  opened  or  a 
new  public  project  inaugurated. 

The  appointment  of  an  exhibition  and  park- 
opener  and  corner-stone  layer,  say  for  life, 
would  give  the  Queen,  Albert,  and  a  few  who 
compose  their  appointed  or  elected  representa 
tives,  more  time  for  a  game  of  backgammon 
and  intellectual  pursuits,  as  wrell  as  be  a  great 
relief  to  them,  if  not  to  the  kingdom. 

This  is  an  invention  of  great  importance  to 
Englishmen.  There  will  come  a  day,  if  exhi- 

27  417 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

bitions  continue  to  open  in  England  as  rapidly 
in  the  future  as  they  have  in  the  past,  when 
the  Queen  and  Albert  will  be  glad  to  have  a 
"regular  man"  attend  to  them,  along  with 
the  corner-stone  laying.  The  whole  course  of 
events  indicates  that  the  English  exhibition- 
opener,  etc.,  is  only  a  question  of  time  —  a  few 
years. 

NOTE.  —  We  have  handled  this  profound  theme 
\vithout  gloves — not  having  any  that  are  entirely 
minus  rips.  We  trust  the  London  Saturday  Review 
and  Spectator  will  deal  as  fairly  and  intelligently  in 
the  future  with  American  affairs  as  we  have  in  this 
article  attempted  to  deal  with  a  vital  question  in  Eng 
land.  We  have  not  introduced  quite  so  many  high- 
sounding  words  as  our  English  contemporaries  named 
possibly  will  wish  we  had.  But  our  topographical 
knowledge  of  England  and  its  sister  dominions  is,  per 
haps,  as  extensive  as  is  our  contemporaries'  knowl 
edge  of  our  little  Republic,  and  that,  in  a  measure, 
will  be  an  offset  to  the  absence,  in  this  contribution,  of 
classical  quotation  and  pretentious  construction  out  of 
heavy,  if  not  often  clumsy,  verbal  material,  in  which 
our  English  contemporaries  seem  to  delight.  To  the 
British  public  in  general,  we  offer  the  foregoing  advice 
gratuitously.  English  papers  please  copy. 


418 


Fashion's  Curious  Lore 

France  the  world  has  derived  more 
ideas  of  fashion  and  elegance  than  from 
any  other  modern  nation.  The  refine 
ments  of  the  toilet  have  been  a  specialty  of 
the  French  people  since,  perhaps,  a  little  be 
fore,  the  time  of  Charlemagne.  The  delight 
of  the  Gallic  woman  was  cold  baths  and 
precious  unguents.  She  frequently  abstained 
from  the  use  of  wine  to  save  her  complexion. 
She  did  not  possess,  however,  many,  if  any, 
valuable  ideas  of  dress  in  its  relation  to 
hygiene  and  sanitary  principles,  any  more 
than  did  our  American  women  one  hundred 
years  or  more  ago,  when  they  were  inclined  to 
go  too  thinly  clad  in  film}*,  sla/y  attire,  which, 
while  showing  off  to  advantage  their  shapeli 
ness  of  figure,  exposed  them  to  the  untold 
dangers  of  rigorous  and  inclement  weather. 

Caesar's    conquest    of    Gaul,    which    every 

schoolboy  knows  was  divided  in  three  parts, 

brought  into  that  territory  Roman  civilization, 

and,   as  well,   Roman    corruption.      Life  there 

419 


The  Bo-jc-Legged  Ghost 

became  more  complex.  The  Gallo-Roman 
lady  coquetted  with  her  fan,  consulted  her 
steel  mirror,  carried  her  parasol,  went  to  her 
dentist,  wore  corsets  of  more  or  less  —  chiefly 
less  —  excellence;  used  scented  pomatums  and 
perfumes,  washes  for  the  eyelids,  dyes  for  the 
brows,  and  various  dermatological  prepara 
tions,  and  in  numerous  other  ways  showed 
herself  to  be  a  sophisticated  being — just  as 
she  does  to-day.  But  with  this  difference  :  in 
those  times  nearly  everything  was  crude  and 
bizarre. 

In  public,  patrician  ladies  held  crystal  or 
amber  balls  in  their  palms  to  cool  the  latter, 
the  amber  giving  out  a  pleasant  odor  as  it 
warmed  in  the  hand.  The  social  condition  of 
Gaul  was  again  modified  by  the  Franks.  For 
instance,  in  the  almost  transparent  material 
and  clinging  style  of  the  gowns  worn  by  the 
Carlovingian  women,  there  was  an  imitation 
of  classic  standards  and  unique  modes.  Under 
Charlemagne's  successors,  women's  dress  be 
came  heavier  and  ampler.  Some  of  the  more 
advanced  of  the  fair  sex  carried  canes,  with 
variously  embellished  handles. 

Then,  as  now7,  fortunes  were  spent  in  dress. 
On  their  wedding  day,  during  the  first  years 
of  the  Renaissance,  brides  wore  red  or  scarlet. 
420 


Fashion' 's    Curious  Lore 

Catherine  de  Medici  was  a  prominent  factor  in 
influencing  the  fashions  of  her  time.  Accord 
ing  to  Brantone,  she  was  the  first  woman  to 
ride  on  a  side-saddle.  Having  remarkably 
beautiful  shoulders,  which  she  was  rather 
fond  of  displaying,  her  decollete  costumes  were 
imitated  by  the  ladies  of  her  court,  often  to 
the  disadvantage  of  those  not  gifted  by  nature 
with  physical  charms.  Catherine  also  in 
troduced  whalebone  bodices,  so  fraught  with 
evil  to  many  succeeding  generations  of 
women. 

Under  Henry  III.,  slender  waists  and 
svelte  figures  were  the  desideratum.  Even 
wooden  splints  were  used  by  women  to  tighten 
their  waists,  when  whalebone  bodices  were 
scarce.  Both  sexes  vied  with  each  other  in 
the  extravagant  use  of  perfumes  and  aromatic 
substances.  The  men  of  that  epoch  were 
absurdly,  if  not  disgustingly,  effeminate. 
Young  dandies  in  ruffs  and  ringlets  copied 
the  Medici  toilets  of  the  ladies,  even  carrying 
about  and  using  perfumed  fans.  The  doublet 
then  adopted  held  its  own  for  many  years. 
It  was  belted  round  the  waist  and  fastened  at 
the  throat  by  a  ruff  or  falling  collar.  Some 
of  the  silly  nabobs  of  the  court  of  Henry  III. 
wore  very  snug-fitting  corsets.  Yet  this  is 
421 


The  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

not  so  singular,  when  we  contemplate  the 
"smart"  young  Britons  and  Anglomaniacs  on 
this  side  of  the  Big  Pond  who  indulge  in  tight 
lacing.  The  late  Duke  of  Clarence  was  thus 
addicted. 

Bourgeoises  of  that  time  were  restricted  by 
royal  edict  from  wearing  silks,  velvet  hoods, 
and  other  finery  affected  by  patricians.  Even 
wives  of  lawyers  and  merchants  came  under 
the  ban,  heavy  fines  being  imposed  on  those 
who  violated  these  ordinances  of  the  Crown. 

One  of  the  most  ingenious  women  in  ori 
ginating  novel  costumes  was  Margaret  of 
Valois,  afterward  the  wife  of  the  King  of 
Xavarre.  She  once  declared,  "Extravagance 
with  me  is  a  family  failing."  The  superior 
ity  of  her  taste  in  dress  has  been  denied, 
however,  by  some  authorities,  who  assert  that 
she  perverted  rather  than  improved  the  fash 
ions  of  her  time.  She  had  one  inexplicable 
preference,  which  is  frequently  manifested  by 
the  fin  de  siecle  woman.  She  usually  con 
cealed  her  magnificent  black  hair  under  a 
dowdy  flaxen  wig.  Why  is  it  that  so  many 
fashionable  wromen  prefer  blonde  hair? 

The  events  of  a  certain  period  and  the 
fashions  of  that  period  usually  bear  an  inti 
mate  relation,  and  one  which  it  is  not  always 
422 


Fashion'' s    Curious  Lore 

easy  to  comprehend.  Mrs.  Alfred  W.  Hunt, 
in  her  bright  little  book,  "Our  Grandmothers' 
Gowns,"  says  :  "Any  startling  political  event 
or  brilliant  victory  always  brought  in  some 
new  shade  of  color  or  cut  of  clothing." 

On  the  other  hand,  fashions  often  spring 
into  favor  without  any  apparent  raison  d'etre. 
In  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  masks  suddenly 
originated,  and  ladies  wore  them  in  public  to 
avoid  recognition  or  to  conceal  facial  defects. 
They  were  usually  of  black  velvet  lined  with 
white  satin.  In  place  of  strings  to  fix  them 
on,  "a  slender  silver  bar  ending  in  a  button 
was  fastened  on  the  inside,  and  putting  this 
between  her  teeth  the  wearer  could  hold  the 
mask  in  its  place. ' ' 

It  is  amusing  to  read  of  the  strange  fads 
and  sumptuous  hobbies  of  the  sixteenth,  sev 
enteenth,  and  eighteenth  centuries.  Our  plu 
tocrats  of  to-day  go  to  extremes  in  their 
ostentation,  it  is  true,  but  luxury  does  not 
run  rampant,  as  it  did  among  the  nobility  in 
those  garish  days.  Just  fancy  dear  old  Queen 
Klizabeth  wearing  nightgowns  lined  through 
out  with  the  soft  pelts  of  white  rabbits. 

Fashions  became  a  matter  of  etiquette  under 
Louis  XIV.  Famous  men  customers  like  Re- 
naud,  Ivallemand,  and  Chalandot  made  the 
423 


The  Boiv-Leggcd  Ghost 

gowns.  Scarfs,  which  had  been  introduced 
some  time  previously,  remained  in  vogue,  and 
muffs  were  not  only  worn,  but  often  served  to 
carry  about  little  dogs.  In  the  shops  ' '  dog- 
muffs"  were  sold.  Head-dress  underwent 
some  marked  variations,  ridiculous  and  hide 
ous  coiffures  being  the  result. 

Under  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  much  gro 
tesque  and  some  beautiful  millinery  came  into 
fashion.  Women  of  high  estate,  in  their  mad 
ness  to  adopt  prevailing  novelties  in  attire, 
forgot  that  good  taste  alone  can  preserve  dress 
from  vulgar  extremes.  By  simply  placing  two 
peacock  feathers  and  several  small  ostrich 
plumes  in  her  hair  one  day,  Marie  Antoinette 
made  feathers  fashionable  throughout  Europe. 
They  fetched  as  much  sometimes  as  fifty  louis 
(1250  francs)  apiece.  This  witty  and  erratic 
queen  invented  such  very  peculiar  styles  of 
head-dress,  that  it  was  difficult  for  the  most 
ingenious  of  her  satellites  to  imitate  them. 
Her  toilet  was  a  masterpiece  of  etiquette.  Ac 
cording  to  Mme.  Cam  pan,  "Everything  was 
done  by  rule.  The  lady  of  honor  and  the  lady 
of  the  bedchamber  were  both  present,  assisted 
by  the  first  dresser  and  two  others,  who  did 
the  principal  part  of  the  service;  but  there 
were  distinctions  to  be  observed.  The  lady  of 
4-4 


Fashion 's    Curious  Lore 

the  bedchamber  (dame  d'atours)  put  on  the 
queen's  petticoat  and  handed  her  gown,  the 
lady  of  honor  poured  out  water  for  wash 
ing  the  royal  hands  and  put  on  the  Queen's 
chemise. ' ' 

The  Marie  Antoinette  coiffure  was  "fear 
fully  and  wonderfully  made." 

The  Pouf  au  sentiment,  with  its  outlandish 
and  preposterous  ornaments  found  favor  in 
the  French  Court.  Would  the  ladies  of  to 
day  care  to  wear  a  bunch  of  asparagus, 
radishes,  or  a  fat  cucumber  in  their  hair? 
Imagine  Mrs.  Jack  Astor  or  Mrs.  Burke- 
Roche,  or  any  other  elegant  lady  of  Gotham, 
or  some  sister  city,  adopting,  say  the  coiffure  a 
la  Belle  Poule,  which  consisted  of  a  ship  in  full 
sail,  reposing  on  a  sea  of  thlcic  curls.  When 
Marie  Antoinette  was  the  undisputed  empress 
of  fashion,  the  scaffolding  of  gauze,  flowers, 
and  feathers  was  raised  to  such  an  extent  that 
no  top  carriages  could  be  found  lofty  enough 
for  ladies'  use.  ' '  The  occupants  were  obliged 
either  to  put  their  heads  out  of  the  windows, 
or  to  kneel  on  the  carriage  floor,  in  order  to 
protect  the  fragile  structures." 

In  the  early  summer  of  1775,  Marie  An 
toinette  made  her  appearance  in  a  sort  of 
chestnut  brown  gown,  and  the  king  said 
425 


77/6'  Bo~jo-Legged  Ghost 

laughingly  :  ' '  That  puce  [flea]  color  becomes 
you  admirably." 

It  is  recorded  that  on  the  following  day 
every  lady  at  the  court  wore  a  puce-colored 
gown,  old  puce,  young  puce,  dos  de  puce 
(flea's  back),  etc.  Many  new  colors  were 
worn,  either  in  combination,  or  successively, 
such  as  ' '  rash  tears, "  "  Paris  sand , ' '  and  "Car 
melite. "  Outre  shapes  prevailed  over  every 
kind  of  opposition.  It  should  not  be  inferred 
from  the  foregoing  observations,  that  some  of 
the  costumes  of  that  period  were  not  strik 
ingly  handsome  and  artistic  both  in  respect 
of  fabric  and  fabrication. 

The  patch-box,  its  lid  lined  with  a  looking- 
glass,  was  in  the  hands  of  every  woman  of  fash 
ion.  In  early  Roman  times  patches  were  worn  by 
orators  of  the  Tribune.  They  wrere  adopted  as 
an  accessory  to  the  ladies'  toilet  about  1655,  and 
continued  in  favor  until  the  time  of  the  Re 
gency,  being  revived  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XYI. 
They  wrere  simply  bits  of  black  silk  sticking- 
plaster,  what  are  known  to-day  as  court-plaster. 

The  old  code  explaining  the  significance  of 
a  patch  on  a  certain  part  of  the  face  is  as  fol 
lows:  The  "impassioned"  patch  was  fixed 
at  the  corner  of  the  eye;  the  "gallant"  in 
the  middle  of  the  cheek ,  the  rectlcuse,  or 
426 


Fashion's    Curious  Lore 

receiver  of  stolen  goods,  on  a  spot  or  pimple  ; 
the  cffrontee,  or  bold-faced,  on  the  nose  ,  and 
the  "coquette  "  on  the  lips.  A  round  patch 
was  called  "the  assassin."  The  great  Mas- 
sillon  preached  a  sermon  in  which  he  anathe 
matized  patches.  The  effect  produced  by  his 
discourse  was  rather  unexpected ;  patches 
were  worn  in  greater  numbers  than  ever,  and 
were  known  as  mouches  de  Massillon. 

Fashion  was  incapable  of  reverence,  and  tri 
umphed  over  all  obstacles.  With  the  devel 
opment  of  social  finesse  and  the  more  subtle 
methods  of  flirtation,  our  incomparable  belles 
of  the  United  States  ought  easily  to  enlarge  the 
patch  code,  so  that  with  their  little  bits  of 
black  silk  sticking-plaster  they  could,  indeed, 
speak  a  "various  language"  to  their  admirers 
and  suitors. 

We  have  had  recently  revivals  of  both 
Directoire  and  Empire  fashions  in  dress,  and 
there  seems  to  be  a  keen  desire  on  the  part  of 
many  swagger  women  to  copy  the  picturesque 
modes  that  flourished  in  the  days  of  the  vola 
tile  Queen  of  France,  who  perished  so  bravely 
on  the  guillotine.  They  wish  to  wear  on  their 
devoted  heads  the  flaring  caleche,  and  on  their 
precious  forms  a  species  of  raiment  not  half  so 
classically  simple  as  that  of  the  present  hour 
427 


SECTION    III. 
VERSES 


Ballade  of  Ye  Old  Tar 

DOUGHTY  old  tar  was  Absalom  Hughes, 
He    had    sailed    many    years   on   the 

main, 

In  a  full-rigged  ship,  and  on  many  a  cruise 
He  had  been  with  the   trim  Mary  Jane. 
In  furling  a  sail  he  hadn't  a  peer, 

And  the  air  with  his  ditties  \vould  ring; 
As  he  climbed   up   the  ratlins,  with  never 

a  fear, 

This  cheerful  refrain  he  would  sing  : 
"Oh,  the  ship  may  pitch  and  the  ship  may 

roll, 

For  it's  all  jest  the  same  to  me; 
And    I'm    gay    night    and    day,     'pon   my 

bloomin'  old  soul, 
When  I'm  out  on  the  foamin'   sea." 

A  supreme  contempt  had  Absalom  Hughes 
For  the  modern  ocean  steam-craft ; 

He    said    the    big    smokestacks    gave    him 

the  "  blues," 
And  at  every  propeller  he  laughed. 


77ic  13o~uC-Lcggcd  Ghost 

"Well,   shiver   my    timbers,"    he    was    wont 

to  remark, 

When  a  steamer  at  sea  met  his  view, 
' '  Ef    that    aint     enough     to     make     a     cat 

bark  — 

How  I  pity  that  lubber-foot  crew  ! ' ' 
Then    he'd    moisten    his    palms  —  well,    no 

matter  just  how  — 
Toward    the    main    cross-trees    would   he 

bound  ; 
And  he'd  gaze  at  the  "liner"   with  scorn 

on  his  brow, 
While    the    air   with    these   words  would 

resound  : 
"Oh,   the  ship  may  pitch  and  the  ship  may 

roll, 

For  it's  all  jest  the  same  to  me ; 
And    I'm    gay    night    and    day,    'pon    my 

bloomin'  old  soul, 
When  I'm  out  on  the  foamin'  sea." 

"I  tell  you,"  he'd  say,    "that's  a  scow  and 

that's  all  ! 
Why,     the    steam    kills    that    thing    for 

me  ; 
I  like    to    hear   the    sails    go    kerflop    in   a 

squall, 

And  the  riggin'  to  groan  frekentlee. 
432 


Something  oughter  flabbergast  once  in  a 
while, 

And  there  oughter  be  Old  Nick  to  pay; 
It  takes  a  sail- vessel  to  put  on  the  style  — 

Give  me  sailin' — the  nateral  way. 

"  Why,  a  blarsted  big  tub,  like  that  smokin' 

beast  there, 

Is  a  shame  to  the  ocean,   I  vow  ! 
It  don't  need    no    science    and    don't   need 

no  care, 

To  run  her  astern  fust  or  bow. 
I'd    like    nothin'     better    than    seein'     her 

sink, 

But  with  no  one  aboard  her,  by  Jing  ! 
Of  our  own  noble  ship,  Mary  Jane,  let  us 

think, 

And  to  her,   now,  my  lads,  let  us  sing  : 
'  Oh,  the  ship  may  pitch  and  the  ship  may 

roll, 

For  it's  all  jest  the  same  to  me; 
And    I'm    gay    night    and    day,    'pon    my 
bloomin'  old  soul, 

When  I'm  out  on  the  foamin    sea.'  ' 

28 


433 


Kathryn  Denee 

§HE'S  beautiful,   really,  no  joking  — 
Her  sweet  smile  will  always  allure; 
But  she  ever  at  men  fun  is  poking, 

With  a  cleverness  semi-demure. 
She's  a  strong  devotee  of  lawn  tennis, 
Her  movements  are  charming  to  see  ; 
Her  name?     Well,  her  real  name  is  Dennis, 
But,  you  know,   they  pronounce  it  Denee. 

Her  eyes  are  soft-tinted  like  beryl, 

And  tawny  the  glint  of  her  hair; 
Each  masculine  heart  is  in  peril 

Of  worshiping  her  to  despair. 
Her  figure  is  queenly  and  slender, 

She's  famed  for  aplomb  and  esprit, 
And  in  accents  so  earnest,  so  tender, 

She  declares  that  her  name  is   Deuee. 

Yes,  she    apes    foreign    manners,   pronounces 
Her  words  with  a  hauteur  so  swell, 

She  handles  her  fan  and  her  flounces 
With  an  elegance  none  could  excel. 

434 


Kathryn   Denee 

She's  quite  the  rage  now  'mong  the  fellows, 
The  ultras  —  that  go  fancy  free; 

For  her  their  esteem  quickly  mellows, 

And  they're  slaves  to  the  fair  Miss  Denee. 

Her  father  his  wealth  acquired  lately, 

He  goes  out  no  more  by  the  day  ; 
He  takes  solid  comfort  and  greatly 

Enjoys  his  club  life,  so  they  say. 
He's  proud  of  his  daughter  as  ever 

A  man  with  a  daughter  could  be  ; 
But  when   he  refers  to  her  —  never 

Does  he  call  her,   like  others,   Denee. 

At  home  Kittie  Dennis  her  name  is, 

And  this  she  accepts  without  frown ; 
But  certain  it  not  quite  the  same  is 

When  out  in  a  pretty  new  gown, 
At  a  dance,  or  at  playing  lawn  tennis, 

In  a  highly  au  fait  compagnie  ; 
Tis  then  she  resents  the  name  Dennis, 

And  insists  upon  Kathryn  Denee. 


435 


Choosing  the  Quill 

journalists  sat  at  the  festive  board, 
One  mem'rable  Christmas  night  ; 
Each  sally  of  wit  was  loudly  encored, 

And  the  wine  flashed  an  amber  bright. 
And  when  the  last  course  had  been  consumed, 

And  the  Knights  began  to  smoke, 
The  President's  figure  upward  loomed, 
And  thus  he  merrily  spoke  :  — 

"Comrades,  beginning  with  Brother  Clarke, 

And  passing  around  on  the  right, 
I  desire  with  eager  ears  to  hark 

To  ev'ry  man's  voice  to-night. 
I  want  each  to  say  from  which  fowl  or  bird 

He  would  pluck  his  quill  with  care  ; 
And  I  will  tell  you  upon  my  word, 

If  his  choice  be  foul  or  fair." 

"  I'd  prefer,"  quoth  Joe,  "my  quill  to  pluck 
From  a  luscious  fat  quail,  mi-lord  ; 

And  would  deem  myself  in  the  best  of  luck, 
To  eat  that  quail  afterward." 
436 


Choosing  the 

"You  think  too  much,"  the    President  said, 

Of  your  belly,   I  plainly  see  ; 
And  starve  your  brains  which  should  be  well 
fed, 

If  a  Greeley  you  fain  would  be." 

"From  a  duck,"   said  Barnes,    "I'd  take  my 

quill, 

As  aquatic  news  I  edit ; 
And  with  it  three  columns  a  day  I'd  fill, 

With  work  that  would  do  me  credit." 
The  President  laughed.      ' '  With  a  quill  like 

that, 

I  fear  you  good  English  would  slaughter ; 
And  surely  'twould  make  you  feel    fearfully 

flat 
To  be  called,    'a  quack  in  deep  water. ," 

Said  Davis  :   ' '  The  quill  that  I  would  prefer, 

Ornaments  the  peacock  gay  ; 
For  I  am  proud  of  the  character 

Of  the  daily  press  of  to-day." 

THE    PRESIDENT  : 

"I  fear  that  kind  of  a  quill  would  strut, 
And  with  many  themes  be  too  free  ; 

And  that  your  readers  would  say,  '  tut  !  tut  ! 
His  pride  is  sheer  vanity.'  ' 

437 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

"A  political  scribe,"   said  Lord,    "am  I, 
Accustomed,  in  print,   to  crowing  ; 

So  with  a  rooster's  quill  I'd  try 
To  keep  my  ideas  going." 

THE    PRESIDENT  : 

"  Despite  their  boastful  length  and  gall, 
No  doubt  they'd  make  some  talk  : 

But  pray  don't  think  you'd  be  of  all 
The  great  cock  of  the  walk." 

"And  I,"  said  Julian  Ralph,    "would  get 
My  quill  from  the  tuneful  lark  — 

Trusting  my  thoughts  would  upward  set 
Toward  some  celestial  mark." 

THE   PRESIDENT  : 

"Beware  of  larks,  my  clever  friend, 

They  are  au  fait  no  more  ; 
To  have  them  oft,  you  may  depend, 

Will  make  your  brain-pan  sore." 

"From  a  lovely  swan  would  I  take    mine, 
Yelled  Fiske,   across  the  table, 

"So  that  my  writings  would  all  be  fine, 
And  graceful  as  they'd  be  able." 

The  President  silently  stood  awhile, 
With  his  eyes  the  last  speaker  on, 
438 


Choosin     the 


And  then,   with  a  roguishly  comic  smile, 
He  simply  murmured,    "  I  swan." 

"My    quill,"   said    Chambers,    "would    aptly 
come 

From  the  goose,   as  most  quills  do  ; 
And  with  it  I'd    try  my  best    to  write  some 

Of  the  cleverest  articles,   too." 

THE    PRESIDENT  : 

"I  think  I  know  just  the  reason  wiry 
You  favor  that  same  quill's  use; 

Shall  I  tell  it  right  out  to  the  company? 
Well,    it's     because    you    yourself    are    a 
goose.  '  ' 

Ned  Saltus  said  his  quill  he'd  pick 

From  the  beautiful,   speckled  loon  ; 
'  '  This  choice  would  make  my  writings  chic, 

And  the  public  would  like  them  soon." 
"Ah,   ha!"     The  President  said,  with  glee, 

"You'd  have,   sir,   a  sorry  lot; 
With  such  a  quill  you  may  believe  me, 

Your  work  would  be  lunatic  rot." 

"I,"  cried  Jack  Bangs,  "  my  quill  would  seize 
From  the  parrot  —  Pretty  Poll  ; 

Then  what  I  wrote  would  be  likely  to  please, 
Though  it  might  be  all  folderol." 

439 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

THE    PRESIDENT  : 

' '  Should    you    use  the  words  that  most  par 
rots  speak, 

Mr.   Comstock  would  on  you  call ; 
Though    that    quill   would   make   your  work 

quite  weak 
Enough  to  be  liked  by  all." 

' '  Now  from  the  President  let  us  hear, ' ' 

Said  Joseph  Clarke,   the  famed. 
"Well,  gentlemen,  mine  has  not  a  peer 

In  the  list  of  quills  you  have  named. 
Mine     would     come     from     Freedom's     fair 
bird- 

The  beloved  and  cherished  eagle, 
To  inspire  with  patriot  fire  each  word 

I  would  write  in  a  style  most  regal." 

"Hi!  yi !  "  cried  all  as  they  quickly  rose, 

With  their  glasses  his  health  to  speed  ; 
"I  think,"   roared  Ross,  with  a  look  jocose, 

"The  right  talons  he  has  to  succeed." 
And  having  thus   honored    the   eagle's   quill 

In  a  jolly  bumper  of  wine, 
Each  knight  to  his  editorial  mill 

Went,  warbling  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 


440 


A  Bachelor's  Story 

^mv  a  fountain  which  tinkled  a  silvery  lay, 

JEJ       She    stood    at   night   on    the    terraced 

^^ 

lawn, 

With  her   hand   outstretched    in    the   crystal 

spray, 
Which  was  fine  as  the  gossamer  dawn. 

And  her  form  was  poised  with  an  artless  grace, 
As  the  angels  have  in  Paradise  ; 

And  Oh!  the  bloom  on  her  Grecian  face, 
And  Oh!  the  pride  in    her  Roman  eyes. 

The  shimmering  light  from  a  mellow  moon 
Was  fading  behind  a  sable  cloud ; 

But  the  fountain  still  chimed  a  mystic  tune 
To  the  dreaming  ferns  in  their  autumn 
shroud. 

And  I  saw  the  beautiful  maid  still  there, 
With  her  hand  outstretched  and  her    gaze 

above ; 

"A  heart  that  is  faint  ne'er  wins  the  fair," 
Said  I,  in  a  frenzy  of  love. 
441 


The  Bo-ju-Lcggcd  Ghost 

I  cautiously  crept  to  her  lovely  side, 
And  pressed  a  kiss  on    her    rosy  cheek  ; 

Alas!    it    was  cold.       "Art    thou    dead?"    I 

cried  ; 
Ah  !  a  maid  made  of  marble    can't   speak. 

Then  I  left  her  there  and  stole  away 
From  the  statuette  that  deceived  me  so; 

Her  hand  may  still  be  in  the  crystal  spray, 
And    her    form   well   poised,    for    aught    I 
know. 

When  the  moon  is  obscured  by  a  cloud  above, 
I  wander  about  the  grounds  alone. 

And  think  of  my  first  and  my  only  love  — 
That  life-like  maiden  in  stone. 


442 


Tragedy  Out  West 

I    lived    out    in    Leadville,    one 
night  they  had  a  show  — 
A    trash-e-dy,    they    called    it  ;    and 

bless  me,   what  a  "go"! 
Mate   Anderson    her  name  was  —  well,   she 

had  lots  to  do, 
And    how    she    made    the    fur   fly    around 

that  platform  —  whew  ! 
I  went    and    tuk    my  fam'ly  —  jest    five  on 

us  all  told  ; 
We  had    the    best    seats    in    the    hall    that 

could  be  got  for  gold. 
The  band  it  tooted    for    a  while    and    then 

the  curtain  rose, 

And  pretty  soon   Mate    she    comes    out    in 
loose,   white-colored  clothes. 

The  fust    few  words   she    spoke    as    if   hei 

mouth  was  full  of  snow, 
But  as  she  went  on  talkin'  more  the)7  warm 

enough  did  grow  : 
She  chased  the  vilyan  all  around  and  tore 

her  hair  in  rage, 
And  finally  she  got  so  tired    she    squatted 

on  the  stage  ; 

443 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

And  while    she    laid    there  very  still,  as  if 

she  jest  had  died, 
The    folks    was    all    surprised    to    hear    it 

rainin'   hard  outside. 
Great  drops  come  peltin'   on  the  roof,  that 

weighed  an  ounce,   I  guess ; 
They    made    us    lonesome    as    the    yelp   of 

coyotes  in  distress. 

Then  all    at  once  Mate  she  jumps  up  and 

toward  her  feller  veers, 
And  talks  to   him  in  such  a  voice  it  almost 

starts  my  tears. 
Just  then    I  looked    around    and    seen    the 

women's  faces  hid 
Behind    their    cotton    handkerchiefs  —  they 

felt  so  bad,  they  did. 
Some    of   the   men's   eyes,    too,    I   noticed, 

seemed  a  trifle  wet  — 
I  tried  my  best  to  keep  mine  dry,  but  it  was 

hard,  you  bet. 
Well,    Mate,    she   kept    right    on    a-talkin' 

sweet  stuff  to  that  chap. 
And  when  she  stopped  to  ketch  her  breath 

we  heerd  a  thunder-clap  ; 
And  then  her  words  was  sadder  still  —  her 

actin'  awful  cute  ; 
I  never  felt  like  cryin'  so  —  oh,  she  was  jest 

a  bute  ! 

444 


Tragedy  Out  West 

Jest  then  Jim  Squeers,  the  editor,  he  raises 

from  his  chair  — 
(Jim's  kindy   slick   y'   know  ;  his  learnings 

pretty  fair), 
Says  he  —  and  as  he  spoke  you  could  a-heerd 

a-fallin'  pin, 
"Come,  less  all  cry  —  why  even  Jove  hisself 

he  can't  hold  in  !  " 

That    was   the    signal    for    us   all    to  go  to 

bawlin'  loud  ; 
You  never  seen  in  all  your  life  so  babyish  a 

crowd. 
What  Jim  Squeers  meant  'bout  Jove  I  never 

could  find  out  ; 
I  only  knowed  'twas  sunthin'  good  and  nice 

to  cry  about. 
And  Mate  she  stood  there  bowin',  jest   as 

cool  as  cool  could  be, 
Awaitin'  till  there  was  a  chance  to  end  that 

trash-e-dy. 
I  cried  until  I  got  ashamed,  as  brave  men 

cry  in'  should, 
But  I   am  bound  to  say  that   cryin'    really  ' 

done  me  good. 
Mate  Anderson  jest   once  or  twice   drawed 

out  the  briny  tears, 
But  I'd  a  kept  'em  back,  I'm  sure,  only  for 

old  Jim  Squeers. 
445 


An  Egyptian  Beauty 

midnight    hair   is   rich    and  its  ebon 

never  blanches, 
As   it    ripples    down    her    shoulders    or 

reclines  in  knotted  rest; 
And  sometimes  she  lets  it    tumble    down    in 

glossy    avalanches, 

Till    the   lovely    tresses    gently    touch    her 
undulating  breast. 

Her  eyes  are  blue  and  in  them  you  can    see 

the  molten    sapphire, 
They're  the  very  brightest  jewels  ever  set 

in  human  face; 
At    looking   in    their   limpid    deeps,   oh,   who 

could  ever  tire? 

What  other  eyes,  indeed,   in  all  the  world 
could  fill  their  place? 

Her  lips,   well,   they  are  rosy,  they  are  moist 

with  fragrant  nectar, 

Which  is  carried  by  her  sighing  from  her 
busy  little  heart, 
446 


An   Egyptian  Beauty 

And    filtered    thro'     her    teeth    that    are    far 

whiter  than  a  spectre, 

And  there  the  dewy    sweetness    lingers    on 
her  lips  apart. 

Her  feet  they   are    too    dainty  to    take  up  a 

long  description, 

She  wears  a  smaller  slipper  than  her  coun 
try's  famous  queen; 

There's  a  magic  fascination  'bout  this  olive- 
skinned  Egyptian  — 

Oh,   she'll  make  the  prettiest  mummy  that 
on  earth  was  ever  seen. 


Between  the  Lines 


motion  brought  her  near  ; 
My    slow  rhyme  paused  —  my  eyes 
Drank  from  the  fountain  of   her  own, 
Not  tears,  but  lambent  love  more  dear 
Than  Paradise  — 
A    throne. 

A  throne, 
Than  Paradise  ; 

Not  tears,  but  lambent  love  more  dear, 
Drank  from  the  fountain  of  her  own  — 
My  slow  rhyme  paused  —  my  eyes  ; 
A  swan-like  motion  brought  her  near. 
447 


Only  a  Poor  Black  Cat 

(  The  main  incident,  referred  to  in  the  following 
verses  was  a  real  occurrence,  which  the  metropolitan 
newspapers  at  the  time  recorded.) 

§NLY  a  cat  imprisoned  in  a  barren,  empty 
room , 
As    dreary    as    a    desert,    as    cheerless 

as  a  tomb  ; 
But    it    had    been    a    touching    and    a    most 

pathetic  sight 

To  see  this  black-furred  feline  in  her  unex 
pected  plight. 

She  rambled   'bout   the  lonely  and   now  for 
saken  place  — 
A  look  of  wistful  wonder  on  her  pinched  and 

haggard  face  ; 
No  doubt    recalling   pleasant    bites   that    she 

had  relished  there 
When    folks   were   offered    quite   a    tempting 

little  bill  of  fare  ; 
For  on  this  ground  floor,  facing  the  famous 

Bowery  gay, 

There' d    been    a   cozy    restaurant  —  only    the 
other  day. 

448 


Only  a    Poor  Black  Cat 

In    her  callow  girlhood   Fraulein  Katarina'd 

come 
To   this  quaint  little  eating-house    and    here 

had  found  a  home ; 
And    here    she'd    made    fast  friends  with  all 

that  she  had  chanced  to  meet. 
Which    fact    accounted   for    the    good    things 

she  had  had  to  eat. 

She'd   lived    a   sumptuous    life,    indeed  ;    the 
waiters,  with  great  pride, 

Had  fed  her  dainties  by  the  score  and  noth 
ing  had  denied  ; 

The  cook  was  partial  to  her,  too,  the  visitors 
as  well, 

And  luscious  were  the  morsels  that  each  day 
to  kitty   fell. 

Now  all  was  changed  ;    the  owner  of  the  res 
taurant  was  gone, 

And    Katarina  fondly   lingered   in    the    place 
alone. 

In   the   hurry  of    removal    they   had   all    for 
gotten  her, 

And    now   if   she    had   wanted    to    she  could 
not  from  it  stir. 

The  doors  were  locked,  the   room  was  dark, 
but  that  she  fancied  nice, 

For  in  the  darkness  she  had  captured  many 
toothsome  mice. 
29  449 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

She     watched     and     waited     anxiously     and 

hunted  on  the  sly, 
But    ne'er   a    tiny    rodent    did    her    patient 

optics  spy  ; 

For  Fraulein  Katarina  the  situation  grew 
Each   hour  more    truly  serious,    as  she   now 

fully  knew. 


Though   not    so    cramped    as    that  black    cat 

which  Edgar  Allan  Poe 
Described    with    such    a    graphic    pen,    such 

facile  verbal  flow7, 
Yet     Fraulein     longed     to     get    out    in    the 

blithe  and  gentle  light, 
Where  she   could  forage  for  a  scrap  to  ease 

her  appetite  ; 
For    now    the    pangs    of   hunger    keen,    she 

scarcely  could  endure, 
Warned  her  that  she  was  starving  in  a  slow- 

ish  way,   but  sure. 
She    piteously   mewed,   as    though    for   help, 

but  there  was  none  to  hear, 
Unless  she    raised    her    pleading    voice    unto 

the  pitch  of  fear. 
Days  followed  days,  poor  Fraulein  thin   and 

thinner  still  became, 
Until  she  was  a  shadow  of  the  cat  that  bore 

her  name. 

450 


Only  a   Poor  Black  Cat 

Why  not  alarm  the  neighborhood?  thought 
Pussy  in  her  pain, 

Which  was  so  fierce  she  dreaded  it  would 
drive  her  quite  insane. 

Whereat  she  gave  a  series  of  the  most  un 
earthly  screams 

That  ever  waked  the  deepest  sleep  and 
pleasantest  of  dreams. 

Upon  the  floor   above    it    chanced   there  was 

a  lodging  house, 
Kept  by  an  aged    German    by    the    name    of 

Herman  Strauss  ; 
The    old    man    heard    these    early    morning 

sounds  of  wild  distress, 
And  from  hissed  he  lightly  sprang,  and,  in 

nocturnal  dress, 
He  wrote  a  note    and    sent    it    with    a   keen 

anxiety, 
To  that  most  worthy  yet  maligned  and  scorned 

Society, 
Whose  aid    is    sought    in    cases    where    base 

cruelty  is  used 
To  animals  that  should    fare  well  and  never 

be  abused. 

Agent  Snowden  heard  the  call  and  with  ex 
citement  he 
Rode    down    town    in    an    ambulance    to    the 

mystic  Bowery  ; 

45 1 


The  Bow- Legged  Ghost 

Entered    that  ex- restaurant    thro'    a  window 

in  the  rear. 
And  found  Katarina  in    a    corner,   crouching 

low  in  fear. 

%.  ^f.  •%  % 

This  Fraulein  Katarina  a  tender  gratitude 

Shows  for  her  noble  rescuer  in  every  mo 
ment's  mood  ; 

He  keeps  her  as  a  trophy,  to  note  the  cir 
cumstance 

Of  going  out  for  larger  ' '  game  "  in  a  cattle 
ambulance. 


452 


The  Boding  Mermaid 

M  A  mermaid,  you'd  agree, 

S" 


If  you  had  a  glimpse  of  me. 
Hair  I  have  like  skeins  of  gold, 

And  a  form  of  special  mold  ; 
Eyes  that  gleam  like  fairest  gem 
Ever  set  in  diadem. 
I  am  more  than  lovely  —  yes,— 
What  my  age  is  —  you  must  guess. 

I  can  swim  in  any  style, 
Never  finding  it  a  tri'l; 
In  my  course  I  cannot  fail, 
For  my  rudder  is  my  tail. 
I  use  it  for  a  paddle,  too, 
When  my  arms  have  else  to  do. 
A  mermaid  it  is  nice  to  be 
And  live  forever  in  the  sea. 

I'm  a  page  to  Neptune  great, 
That  monarch  of  a  vast  estate; 
Within  his  coral  palace  I 
Wait  on  his  royal  majesty. 
453 


The  Bow -Legged  Ghost 

His  diet  chiefly  is  of  fish 

Served  just  according  to  his  wish. 

I  seldom  care  myself  to  show 
Above  the  current's  ebb  and  flow  ; 
The  sunlight  has  a  piercing  glare  — 
And  then  you  know  how  people  stare. 
But  yet  some  other  reasons  keep 
Me  pretty  wrell  down  in  the  deep. 
Among  them  is  the  fear  that  men 
Will  try  to  capture  me  again, 
As  once  two  men  amid  a  squall 
(Men  naughty  but  not  nautical), 
Essayed  to  get  me  on  a  hook  ; 
But  them  I  simply  brought  to  book 
By  leading  them  so  far  from  shore 
They  never  once  were  heard  of  more. 

Ah  !  if  I  should  be  caught,  I  know 
For  gold  I  should  be  placed  on  show  ; 
And  how  inglorious  it  would  be 
For  a  fair  mermaid  of  the  sea 
To  pass  her  life  amid  the  hum 
Of  a  New  York  dime  museum. 


45* 


A  Little  Soubrette 

Don't  you  know  her?    Ah,  me, 
She's  as  clever  as  clever  can  be  ; 
In  singing  and  dancing,   I  ween, 
She's  as  good  as  the  stage  e'er  has  seen, 
And  in  playing  the  role  of  soubrette 
No  one  can  approach  fair  Lisette. 

Oh,  how  loud  ring  the  encores  each  night, 
From  those  whom  her  graces  delight ! 
At  her  feet,  Oh,   what  roses  are  flung, 
When  her  favorite  song  has  been  sung  ! 
Who  that's  seen  her  will  ever  forget 
The  handsome,  bewitching   Lisette? 

The  letters  that  to  her  are  sent 
O'erflow  with  love-lorn  sentiment ; 
But  she  tosses  them  all  in  the  fire, 
For  to  coquette  she  has  no  desire  — 
Except  when  her  lines  in  a  play 
Provide  for  her  acting  that  way. 

In  poverty's  school  she  was  reared  ; 
At  ten  she  in  tights  first  appeared 

455 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

And  sang  o'er  the  footlights  the  song 
That  has  thrilled  with  joy  many  a  throng  ! 
But  her  soul  is  unstained  by  the  sin 
That  has  sometimes  since  then  hemmed  her  in. 

Her  sisters  may  mock  and  may  laugh 
Because  she  no  wineglass  will  quaff  ; 
But  with  their  disdain  they  must  feel 
The  torture  of  shame  o'er  them  steal, 
As  they  gaze  in  her  blue  eyes  and  know 
That  her  heart  is  as  white  as  the  snow. 

Oh,   woman  so  rare  and  so  true, 

What  a  splendid  example  are  you! 

A  lesson  of  value  and   worth 

You  have  taught  to  the  daughters  of  earth  — 

That  though  you're  a  dashing  soubrette, 

You're  still  a  pure  woman,  Lisette. 


456 


In  the  Throes 

!     Keep  quiet,  children,  you  mustn't 

make  a  noise, 
For   Jim  is    in   the   garret    a-writin'   a 

poem  grand  ; 
It's  about  his  love  o'  natur'   and  the  things 

thet  he  enjoys, 

And  I  guess  the  folks' 11  read  it  all  over  this 
broad  land. 

Jim's  goin'   to  be  a  poet  and  I  don't  blame 

him  'tall, 
We    never  had    a  poet  in  our  family  as  I 

know ; 
And  Jim's  been  gittin'  ready  since,  well,  way 

back  there  last  fall, 

To  write  some  first-class  po'try  thet  he  aint 
ashamed  to  show7. 

He's   had    some   bang-up    schoolin'    and    his 

spellin',  so  they  say, 

Is    wonderful  in  pint  o'   bein'    right  'most 
ev'ry  time; 

457 


The  Bo-w-Legged  Ghost 

I'm  proud  of  Jim,  by  cracky,  and  I  long  to 

see  the  day 

When  he  prints  a  nice  green  volum'  of  his 
jingles  and  his  rhyme. 

There,   Susan,    you  stop  laffin';   you'd  better 

mind  me,  miss, 
Or  I'll  go  out  and  get  a  switch,  and  I  will 

use  it,  too. 
Hark  !    Jim  is  pacin'  overhead,  b'gosh  what 

awful  bliss 

He   must   enjoy  —  the    way    thet    all    them 
poets  do. 

He's  thinkin'  now  for  all  he's  worth,  on  thet 

ye  can  depend  ; 

I'll  bet  the  thing  he's  writin'  will  be  beau 
tiful  to  hear ; 

And   I   hope  the  competition   he'll   immedi 
ately  send 

To   the    River   Junction    Screechou'l,   which 
I've  took  for  twenty  year. 

The  Editor  would  print  it,  at  least  I  think  he 

would, 

I've  often  gine  him  apples  and  potatoes  and 
green  corn  ; 

458 


In   the   Throes 

And    on   thet  account  he'd   print  it  if  Jim's 
poem  wasn't  good  — 

Which  it  will  be  jest  as  certain  as  it  is  thet 
you  were  born. 

So  jest  keep  quiet,  children,  you  mustn't  make 

a  noise, 
For  Jim  is  in  the  garret  a-writin'  a  poem 

grand  ; 
It's  about  his  love  o'  natur'   and  the  things 

thet  he  enjoys, 

And  I  know  the  folks' 11  read  it  ail  over  this 
broad  land. 


Recrimination 

5  KNOW  a  woman  fair  as  she  can  be, 
Endowed  with  charms  that  Venus  could 

not  claim  ; 

Whose  smile   is  like  a  ripple  on  the  sea, 
When  lighted  up  by  tender  sunset's  flame. 

But  do  not  ask  me  if  her  soul  be  kind, 
Do  not  inquire  if  she  aright  can  read  ; 

She   just  now  told  me  I    ne'er  had  a    mind. 
Or  if  I  had  it  sure  had  gone  to  seed. 
459 


Her   Answer 

{"Doubtless  God  might  have  made  a  better  berry 
than  the  strawberry,  but  doubtless  God  never  did." 
This  witticism,  attributed  to  Rev.  Henry  Ward 
Beecher,  was  made  long  before  him  by  an  English 
man.} 

§HE  was  the  sweetest  of  girl  graduates, 
Her  eyes  were  violets,   her  lips  were 
«*  '  L 

cherries  ; 
She  sat  upon  a  cafe  ottoman, 

Eating  abnormally  developed  berries. 

I  watched    her  with  an  eye  in  ambuscade, 
I    listened    to    her    laugh    so    sweet    and 

merry  ; 
At    last    I   said:    "You  like  them  then  so 

much? 

Oh,    how    I  wish    that    I  were  a   straw 
berry  ! ' ' 

She  raised  her  glorious  eyes    from    off    the 

plate. 

"You  really  mean  it?  Ah,  I  wish  so,  too; 
Because,  you  see,  most  tentative  of  youths, 
I  could  so  easily  dispose  of  you." 
460 


By  a  Hair's  Breadth 

you    so    glum,    dear 


What  dire    forebodings   haunt   you  ? 
Why  do  you  thus  to  sorrow  tend  — 
Allow  grim  cares  to  daunt  you  ? 
Is  business  poor,  or  what's  amiss, 

That  you  appear  so  stupid? 
Has  some  of  your  domestic  bliss 
Been  charmed  away  by  Cupid? 

"Come,   tell  me,   tell  me,   I  implore, 

Have  you  been  wronged,  offended? 
If  not,   desist  from  frowning  more, 

By  smiles  be  hence  attended." 
"Oh,   'tis  bereavement  most  intense  — 

Not  loss  of  love  or  pelf ; 
But  just  imagine  my  suspense  — 
My  wife  has  stabbed  herself  ! ' ' 

' '  You  mean  to  say  —  but  tell  me  quick  — 

Your  lady  is  not  —  dead  ? ' ' 
"Well,   no,  not  quite,   but  she  is  sick, 

There's  trouble  with  her  head. 
461 


The  B Ota- Legged  Ghost 

You  see,   this  morning  we  awoke 

As  usual,  and  dressed  ; 
I  noticed  that  she  never  spoke, 

And  seemed  somewhat  depressed. 

"Yet  all  went  well  until  she  stood, — 

Oh,  horrors  !  what  a  sight  ! 
Uplifting,   in  a  reckless  mood, 

A  something  gleaming  bright  : 
Excuse  these  tears,  but  weep  I  must, 

Before  the  mirror  there  — 
I  saw,  Oh,   fate  !  my  darling  thrust 

A   dagger  —  in  her  hair!" 


To  May  Irwin 

daughter    of     Thalia,    maker    of 
mirth, 
Weeping   or   morbid    I    cannot    imagine 

you  ; 
O,    what    a    rare    blessing    you    are    to    this 

earth, 
Such  lively  spirits  are  given  to  but  a  few. 

Xot  a  companion  more  buxom  and  jolly, 
Xot  a  vain  hair  in  your  plentiful   tresses ; 

Best  of  all  tonics  for  sour  melancholy, 

Is    seeing    your   face    and    the    fun    it   ex 
presses. 

Or   hearing   your  voice  when    you  playfully 

render 

A  coon   song,  or  ditty,   or  some   composi 
tion, 

In    which,    with    a    way    all    your   own,    you 
engender 

Thro' out  the  whole  house  a  convulsive  con 
dition. 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Play-goers  adore  you,  and  catch  your  bright 

mood, 

No  artiste  can  mate  you  in  humor  refined  ; 
From  every  pore  you  much  laughter  exude, 
And     women     all     envy    your     scintillant 
mind. 


464 


Diana  Up  to  Date 

BIANA  chaste  was  ne'er  subdued 
By  Love,   nor    felt    the   "spooning" 

mood ; 

She  lived  a  virgin's  life  with  grace, 
And  was  the  Empress  of  the  Chase ; 
She  is  the  prototype  to-day, 
Of  few  who  care  to  live  that  way. 

\Ye  have  Dianas  even  yet, 

But  they're  not  like  this  ancient  pet; 

For  they  are  all,   or  else  have  been, 

Engaged   in  chasing  only  men  ; 

Some  are  the  winners  at  one  aim, 

And  some  take  years  to  bag  their  game. 

Diana  chaste  was  never  chased 

By  a  successful  suitor  ; 

Though  Cupid  many  darts  did  waste 

In  his  attempts  to  shoot  her  ; 

He  must  have  been  a  silly  jay, 

To  think  he  could  Diana  sway. 

Oh,   Heaven  bless  that  growing  class, 
Oft  termed,   "Old  maids,"   who  once,  alas! 

30  465 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

May  have  been  deep  in  love,  but  now 
Are  mourning  o'er  some  broken  vow  ; 
Each  one  may  be  ('tis  but  surmise) 
A  chaste  Diana  in  disguise. 


A  Reasonable  Conclusion 


^plfwo    ghosts    at    midnight    stopped    before 


A   noble  mansion's  blazoned  door. 

l£>  [QJ 

Said  one  :    "  Why  don't  Jack  Aubyn  die, 

And  once  more  seek  our  company  ? 
It's  been  ten  years  since  we  expired, 
And  went  to  worlds  the  most  desired  ; 
But  he  remains  on  earth  to  share 
The  strife    of    men    and    mortal    care. 
The    friendship    he   professed    to    us, 
And    over   which    he    made    such    fuss, 
He   seems   to    have    forgotten   quite  — 
Which    I    consider   hardly    right." 

"Well,"    said  the  other  ghost   "'tis  true, 
He   used    to   like    both    me   and    you ; 
But    'tis   not    strange    that    he   does   not 
Desire    to    share    our   spirit    lot. 
I'll    bet   our   mem'ry    he    abhors  — 
You    know    we   died    his   creditors." 
466 


Epitaphs 

Jane  to  books  applied  herself  in 
youth, 

And  oft  applied  her  hand  to  the  unwise. 
Tis  said  the  thing  she  loved  the  most  was 

truth, 
And  yet  you  now  see  how  the  woman  lies. 

Fair  Susan  died  with  water  on  the  brain  ; 
She  didn't  know  she  suffered   any    pain, 
When  asked  if  codfish  balls  she    liked,   re 
plied  : 
"  I've  ne'er  attended  any."     Then  she  died. 

The  doctor  ran  an  institute, 
His  life  was  full  of  care  ; 

Although  he  was  a  principal, 
He  hadn't  much  to  spare. 

Pat's  nose  was  like  Longfellow's  poems,   'tis 

said, 

Because    it  was    always  extensively  red ; 
Pie  stoli  some  champagne  and  drank  it  so 

fast 

That    his    pain    was   no    sham    when    he 
murmured  his  last. 
467 


Her  Identity 

?HO  is  that  little  lady  there, 

With  ebon  eyebrows  curving   o'er 
A  brow  so  very  soft  and  fair, 

You'd  think  no  care  it  ever  w7ore  ? ' ' 

' '  Who  is  she  ?     Do  you  want  to  know  ? 

Sister  —  the  joke's  on  you,   this  time; 
She's  leading  lady  in  a  show 
That  costs  you  but  a  single  dime." 


468 


The  Giant  and  the  Dwarf 


once  lived  many  years  ago, 
^MJ>       A  giant  famed  for  strength  ; 

He  was  a  prince  of  wondrous  wealth, 
And  also  wondrous  length. 

With  all  his  mighty  wealth  and  strength, 

He  knewr  no  golden  rule; 
In  plainer  language,  be  it  said, 

This  giant  was  a  fool. 

Near  by  within  a  hovel  dwelt 

A  midget,  weak,  but  wise; 
He  had  no  vast  estates  on  earth, 

But  "mansions  in  the  skies." 

He  spent  his  time  in  reading  books 
And  learning  Nature's  laws, 

The  mysteries  of  destiny, 
The  one  eternal  cause. 

One  day  the  midget  chanced  to  meet 

The  giant  on  a  hill, 
And  both  meandered  down  its  slope 

And  reached  a  babbling  rill. 
469 


The  Boiu-Legged  Ghost 

"  To  prove  my  strength,  you  puny  brat," 

The  haughty  giant  said, 
"I'll  blow  a  blast  quite  loud  enough 

To  wake  the  sacred  dead." 

Straightway  he  blew  upon  a  reed, 
And  straightway  came  a  band 

Of  Tartars,  armed  with  pikes  and  clubs, 
The  fiercest  in  the  land. 

They  fell  upon  the  mighty  prince, 

Who,  meek  as  any  lamb, 
Cried  out:   "  Hold!  hold!  my  little  friend 

Will  tell  you  who  I  am." 

Stepped  forth  the  midget,  bold  and  free, 

And  soon  identified, 
In  Tartar  dialect,  the  prince, 

Who  otherwise  had  died. 

The  Tartars  stared  at  him  aghast, 
Then  with  a  look  of  shame 

They  ran  away  at  double-quick, 
With  blessings  on  his  name. 

"I  will  reward  thee  with  my  gold," 
The  prince  exclaimed  in  glee  ; 

"  Thy  learning  had  more  weight  with  them 
Than  all  the  weight  o'   me." 
470 


The  Giant  and  the  D^.varf 

And  oft  it's  so  in  human  life, 

Where  modest  wisdom  reigns  — 

The  giants  have  the  wealth  and  strength, 
The  midgets  have  the  brains. 


The   Usual   Thing 

royal  game  of  bluff  is  played 
By    every    marriage-hungry    maid  ; 
She  dons  a  front  of  ennui  fane, 
Puts  on  a  look  that's  quite  divine, 
And  ever  keeps  her  hair  in  curl  — 
Does  this  ambitious,  wily  girl. 

She's  on  the  lookout  for  a  man, 
Created  on  a  perfect  plan  ; 
But  if  small  vices  he  betrays, 
She  studies  them  without  amaze  — 
That  is,  if  soon  will  fall  to  him 
A  million  —  and  he's  in  the  swim. 


A  Simile 

w  MET  her  at  Bar  Harbor, 
JL.       She  sojourned  there  a  week  ; 
I  sought  an  introduction, 
And  found  a  chance  to  speak. 

We  wandered  o'er  the  reaches 

Of  yellow-tinted  sand, 
And  talked  about  the  city  — 

The  romping  waters  scanned. 

We  climbed  a  stony  hillock, 
My  heart  was  all  aflame  ; 

I  asked  her,  with  emotion, 
If  she  would  share  my  name. 

She  smiled  and  said  sedately, 
As  the  breezes  kissed  her  locks  : 

Yes,  if  you  —  like  this  spot  here  — 
Have  plenty  of  the  rocks." 


472 


An  Engagement 

JI,ONG  the  beach  one  even, 

A  mile  or  so  from  Lynn  — 
The  stars  were  bright  in   heaven, 
Ashore  white  surge  was  driven 

With  merry  clash  and  din. 
They  sauntered  on  unheeding 
All  save  themselves,   alone, 
She  his  expression  reading, 
And  he  her  pity  pleading 
In  love's  fond  undertone. 

At  last  she  coyly  answers, 

"Don't  trifle,   sir,   with  me; 
I  saw  you  at  the  Lancers, 
Among  the  giddy  dancers 

Who  clung    to  Charlotte   Lee." 
"  Well,    I've  paid  some  attention 

To  Charlotte,   as  you  say; 
But  with  no  such  intention 
As  you  would  have  me   mention, — 

She's  my  cousin,   by  the  way." 

473 


The  Bo~jj-Leggcd  Ghost 

"Ah!  that  alters  the  complexion 

Of  the  matter  very  much; 
And  I  think,   upon  reflection, 
You  showed  taste  in   your    selection 

Of  a  partner  for  the   Dutch  — 
You  know  I   mean   the  German  — 

Is  she  cousin,    honor  bright?" 
"  I'm  as  honest  as  a  sermon  ! 
Now  won't  you,   dear  Miss   Hermann, 

Give  away  your  heart  to-night  ? ' ' 

So  it  was  the  old,   old  story, 

To   his  pleas  she  ne'er  replied, 
But  she  leaned  her  head  in  glory 
On  his  bosom,    while  the  hoary, 

Crimpling  billows   broke    and  sighed. 
Slowly  backward  home  they  wended, — 

Still  the  moon  refulgence  shed; 
But  their  hearts  in  one  were  blended, 
And  by  joy  they'll  be  attended, 

There's  no  doubt,  when  they  are  wed. 


474 


Her  Neck 

ipHAT  will  the  pleasures  of   the  town 
•  r 

Compare  indeed  writh  such 

Delight  as  mine,   when    softly  down 

Her  drift  of  tresses  touch 
My  face,   and  when  her  dainty  hand 

Makes  mute  my  lauding  lips  ; 
And  when  my  hand,   with  impulse    bland, 
Around  her  shoulder  slips? 

Oh,  creamy  neck  !  with  slant  of   flesh 

As  soft  as  starlit  glow, 
Held  in  enchanting,   witching  mesh, 

Upon  the  Alpine  snow  — 
The  snow  one  sees  from  Chamonix, 

When  moonbeams  have  unrolled 
Night's  view  of  Mont  Blanc's  majesty  — 

What  makes  that  mole  so  cold? 


475 


Capricious  Cupid 

' '  tiff0  THE;  onslaught  I  rush  with  my  bow 
?Mg  double-drawn, 

And    I    sound    the    shrill    conch   as    I 

travel ; 

'Tis  no  time  for  me  before  ladies  to  fawTn, 
Or  their  tangled  love-knots  to  unravel. 

"I've   an    old    maid    to   conquer,    resistance 

she'll  show, 

But  determined   I  am  she'll  surrender  ; 
I  seldom  have  failed  with  these  hard  hearts 

below, 

That  I've  once  started  out  to  make  ten 
der. 

"  There  she  is  with  a  smile  of  disdain  on  her 

face. 

Well,  this  arrow  will  bring  her  to  cover ' '  ; 
And  it  sped  like  a  thoroughbred  horse  in 

a  race, 

And  she  cried  out:   "Oh,  where  is  my 
lover?" 

476 


Capricious  Cupid 

But  she  traveled  a  year  ere  she  found  the 

poor  man, 

And  the  climax  is  speedily  written  ; 
Entre  nous  —  he's  the  same  chap  who  after 

her  ran 

Years   before    and    got    from    her    "  the 
mitten." 


477 


The  Yellow  Clarinet 


(  There  is  a  peculiar  superstition  among  certain 
theatrical  people  that  an  old-fashioned  yellow  clarinet 
in  the  orchestra  is  a  sure  omen  of  bad  'luck  or  misfor 
tune  to  them.) 


§HE  little  man  with   the  big  moustache, 
and  the  funny  drooping  eye, 
He  plays  no   more    in   the    orchestra, 

for  the  leader  bade  him  fly  ; 
But    whither    he    fled,    well,    over    that    no 

one  will  really  fret, 

Whoever    heard    that    little    man     play    on 
his  yellow  clarinet. 

Oh,   what  a  Jonah   this  genius  was  to   the 

actors  on  the    stage  ! 
Whene'er    he    played  a  tremolo    it  doubled 

the  villain's    rage  ; 
And    empty    seats,    and    all    ill    luck    with 

which   the  Thespians    met, 
They    swore    was    due    to    the    man    who 

played  on  the  yellow  clarinet. 


The  Tcllo-uo  Clarinet 

A    look    of    terror  would    quickly  creep    in 

the  leading  lady's  face, 
When  she  "came  on"   and    looking   down 

would  see  that  fiend  in  his  place  ; 
She  begged  the  manager  on  her  knees  the 

music  cues  to  omit  — 
For    the    sounds    of    that    yellow    clarinet 

would  throw  her  into  a  fit. 

'Tis    hard,    they    say,    to    acquire    the    skill 

the  merry  notes  to  transpose 
On   this    instrument    from   the  music  score 

that  lies  before  one's  nose ; 
But   harder  still  it   must   be,   indeed,    when 

the  player  has  drunk  too  much, 
And  he  strikes  a  key  with  which  the  rest 

of  the  band  is  not  in  touch. 

Well,   that    is    what    happened    the    other 

night,   in  the  second  act  of    the    play, 
The  little  man,   from  excess  in  drink,   was 

in  a  very  bad  way  ; 
On  the  demon  reed  that  he  firmly  held  to 

his  lips,   he  blew  too  hard, 
And    it    "cracked"    and    gave    the    wildest 

shrieks,    as    from    cats    in    some    back 

yard. 

479 


The  Bovj-Legged  Ghost 

'Twas    then    the    leader   ordered    him    out, 

and  out  the  fellow  went, 
Hugging  to  his  besotted  heart  his  infernal 

instrument ; 
Oh,    how   can   we   thank    the    leader,    and 

how  can  we  learn  to  forget 
That    little    man    with    the    big   moustache 

and  the  yellow  clarinet? 


480 


Lines  to  a  Cook 

XEVER  have  seen  you,  Oh,  Bridget  O'Toole, 
But  the  waiter  has  told  me  vour  name  : 

-r  1  1  , 

I  m  not  aware  whether  you  ve  e  er  been 

to  school, 
But  you  know  how  to  cook  just  the  same. 


The  scallops  you  fry  to  an  eatable  brown, 
The  chops  they  are  done  to  a  turn  ; 

The  soups  you  concoct  have    acquired   great 

renown  — 
Where  all  of  these  things  did  you  learn? 

I   hear    you're    a    widow  —  too    bad    Mike   is 
dead  — 

But  his  is  the  loss  and  not  yours  ; 
For  surely  his  spirit  now  misses  your  bread 

And  your  cake  that  my  palate  allures. 

I'm  told  that  your  hair  is  as  red  as  a  brick, 

But  the  butter  it  giveth  no  sign 
Of  whether  'tis  red  or  blue,  silky  or  thick  — 

But  its  absence  in  food  is  divine. 


The  Bouo- Legged  Ghost 

I  think  you're  entitled  to  more  than  you  get, 
For  cooking  such  entrees  untold  ; 

They  always  agree  with  my  liver  and  set 
As  light  as  the  snow  on  the  wold. 

Henceforth  to  give  praise  to  your  wonderful 
skill 

Each  day  I  shall  make  it  a  rule  ; 
Your  cooking  I  know  I  can  eat  to  my  fill  — 

Heaven  bless  you,  Oh,  Bridget  O'Toole. 


Comparison 

STANDS  at   the  swell  club  windows, 
His  eyes  are  looking  down  ; 
He  waits  to  see  meander  past 
The  belle  of  Gotham  town. 
The  pavements,  wet  and  muddy, 

Cause  skirts  to  travel  high, 
And  that's  the  reason  Bobbie 

Is  watching  on  the  sly. 
Last  week  he  saw  the  features 

Of  this  entrancing  blonde, 
And  now  he  wonders  if  her  feet 
In  beauty  correspond. 


482 


A   Paragon 

lips  and  bronze  hair, 
White  teeth,   beryl  eyes, 
These  make  a  maid  fair 
As  a  summer's  fair  skies, 

Small  feet  and  big  heart, 

White  hands  and  bright  mind  • 

Ah,   I  never  could  part 
With  a  maid  of  that  kind. 


483 


At   Richfield  Springs 

>AY  maidens  bowl  upon  the  green, 
And   sweetly  animate    the   scene ; 
In  summer  bravery  attired, 
Their  skill  at  tennis  is  admired 
By  fond  mammas,  who  sit  and  sew 
And  tell  each  other  what  they  know 
Of  scandal  and  of  this  and  that, — 
In  short  all  things  that  spice  a  chat. 

Old  bucks,  with   faces  fat  and  red, 
Strut  here  and  there  with  doughty  tread, 
Some  doubtless   wondering  in  what  way 
They'll  manage  all  their  bills  to  pay. 
The  noon  meal  o'er,  '  tis  time  to  call, 
For  Stanhope  and  for  carry-all, 
For  saddle  horse  and  thoroughbred  ; 
And  forth  the  varied  nags  are  led. 

Away  they  go  beyond  the  town, 
Some  riders  bobbing  up  and  down 
W7hile  others  sit  in  graceful  state, 
Whatever  be  the  equine' s  gait. 
484 


At  Richfield  Springs 

The  few  that  stay  behind  engage 
In  travel  o'er  the  printed  page, 
Or  ramble  thro'   the  park,  or  go 
To  Slumberland  an  hour  or  so. 

The  darkness  falls,  the  gas  burns  bright, 
A  brilliant  hop  is  on  to-night ; 
Young  slips  of  virgin  beauty  move 
About  the  place  like  sprites  of  love. 
The  air  is  fragrant  with  faint  sighs 
From  maiden  lips  to  begging  eyes ; 
Big  diamonds  blaze  on  ringers  fair, 
Decollete  wives  in  force  are  there. 

And,   oddest  sight  of  all,   perchance, 
Behold  the  dear  old  ladies  dance. 


485 


SECTION  IV. 
DIALOGUES   AND    PARAGRAPHS 


(487) 


Speculation  Run  Wild 

is  an  age  of  speculation,  and  people 
not  only  indulge  in  it  for  financial,  but 
for  mental  and  moral  profit.  I  was 
never  so  much  impressed  with  this  fact  until 
the  other  day,  while  riding  in  a  Wagner 
coach  on  Long  Island.  Without  in  the  least 
attempting  to  be  an  eavesdropper,  I  over 
heard  the  conversation  between  two  young 
men  who  occupied  seats  opposite  my  own. 
One  of  the  young  men  looked  pale  and  bilious 
and  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  consump 
tion,  while  the  other  young  man  was  the  very 
picture  of  pink-cheeked  health.  His  mind, 
too,  or  at  least  the  imaginative  side  of  it, 
must  have  been  fully  as  robust  as  his  body. 

For  the  sake  of  distinguishing  them,  I  shall 
designate  one  the  Pale  Young  Man  and  the 
other  the  Pink  Young  Man.  Their  discourse 
began  and  continued  as  follows  :  — 

Pink  Y.  .I/. —  I  say,  Rodney,  do  you  sup 
pose  General  Grant  ever  wished  he  had  been 
personally  acquainted  with  George  Washing 
ton  ? 

489 


The  Bo^v  Legged   Ghost 

Pale  Y.  M. —  Don't  know,  I'm  sure.  What 
attention  they  would  attract  if  they  could 
walk  into  a  theater  together,  eh? 

Pink  Y.  M.—  Well,  I  should  simper.  Rod, 
do  you  suppose  that  Chauncey  M.  Depew 
would  rather  be  the  Prince  of  Wales  than 
United  States  Senator ? 

Pale  Y.  M. —  That  is  a  leading  question, 
and  I  refuse  to  answer. 

Pink  Y,  M. —  Now,  really,  do  you  think 
George  Francis  Train  and  Doctor  Mary  Walker 
would  make  an  appropriate  married  couple  ? 

Pale  Y.  M.—  \  hardly  think  the  psychic 
conditions  would  be  favorable  to  felicity,  but 
still  I  may  be  wrong. 

Pink  Y.  M.  -'-  I  often  think  Beethoven 
would  have  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  Sousa. 
What  do  you  think  ? 

Pale  Y.  M.-  There  is  not  a  doubt  of  it. 
I  have  heard  Sousa  say  that  Beethoven  was 
quite  a  good  musician. 

Pink  Y.  M.—  Do  you  think  Edgar  Saltus 
and  Miss  Lavinia  H.  Dempsey,  the  Queen  of 
the  Holland  Dames,  would  be  compatible  as 
man  and  wife  ? 

Pale  Y.  M.  —  Scarcely.     Saltus  and  Amelie 
Rives  (that  was),  or  Gertrude  Atherton,  might 
have  been  agreeably  installed  in  matrimony. 
490 


Speculation  Run    Wild 

Miss  Dempsey,  I  think,  prefers  spinsterhood  if 
she  can't  snare  a  man  as  innocent  as  Ed 
gar  Fawcet. 

Pink  Y.  M. —  Excuse  me  for  asking  it, 
Rodney,  but  it's  been  weighing  on  my  mind. 
Do  you  think  T.  B.  Ochiltree  and  Lillian 
Russell  could  have  married  and  lived  happily  ? 

Pale  Y.  M.—  Probably  Colonel  Ochiltree 
could  have  done  so,  but  I  am  not  so  certain 
about  airy,  fairy  Lillian. 

Pink  Y,  M. —  In  your  opinion  would  Julius 
Caesar  have  made  as  great  a  United  States 
Senator  as  Thomas  C.  Platt? 

Pale  Y.  M. —  Not  quite,  perhaps.  The  two 
men  resemble  each  other,  and  their  mentality 
is  of  about  the  same  grade,  or  would  be  were 
Julius  living. 

Pink  Y.  M. —  Say,  Rodney,  I  want  to  ask 
you  something.  Do  you  suppose  Napoleon  I. 
would  have  been  sued  for  divorce  by  Mrs. 
Leslie  Carter,  if  she  had  been  his  wife  ? 

Pale  Y,  M.  —  I  give  that  one  up. 

Pink  Y.  M. —  Don't  you  think  Mrs.  Frank 
Leslie  would  have  been  indignant  if  she  had 
been  forced  by  her  papa  to  marry  Brigham 
Young? 

Pale  Y.  M.  —  Yes,  indeed. 

Pink  Y.  M.  —  Don't  you  believe  Shakes- 
491 


The  B&w-Legged  Ghost 

peare  and  Bronson  Howard  would  go  into 
partnership  if  the  former  were  alive  ? 

Pale  Y.  J/.—  Probably.  They  might  take 
in  Sardou,  too. 

Pink  Y.  M. —  I  guess  not  more  than  once. 
Sardou  is  too  shrewd  for  that.  Rodney,  tell 
me  what  living  American  would  the  belles  of 
ancient  Greece  most  admire? 

Pale  Y  M.-  John  L    Sullivan. 

Pink  Y.  M. —  My  dear  young  fellow>  I 
want  to  ask  if  you  think  Madame  de  Pompa 
dour,  if  living  to-day  in  Xew  York,  would  be 
in  the  hairdressing  business  ? 

Just  then  the  brakeman  shouted  "Green- 
port,"  and  I  sneaked  out  into  the  fresh  air, 
wondering  whether  that  Pink  Young  Man's 
imagination  would  eventually  lead  him  to  the 
pinnacle  of  fame  or  to  the  lunatic  asylum. 


492 


Answers  to  Correspondents 

(This  department  is  in  charge  of  an  individual, 
ivho  knows  it  all,  and  therefore  we  guarantee  more 
reliable  information  than  is  furnished  by  any  other 
publication,  not  excepting  the  "Young  Ladies'  Do 
mestic  Repository.'") 

HOPEGOOD,    of   western    Pennsyl 
vania,  writes  to  know  if  there  is  any- 
metliod  of  preserving  eggs  from  grow 
ing  stale. 

Yes,  Nell,  there  are  two  or  three  methods. 
One  is  to  consume  the  eggs  in  the  heyday  of 
their  youth,  before  they  have  any  chance  to 
deceive  you.  Another  effective  method  is  to 
massacre  the  hen  and  eat  her,  several  hours  in 
advance  of  the  probability  of  her  laying  eggs 
that  are  likely  to  lose  their  girlish  freshness, 
as  it  were. 


JASOX  OVERTREE,  of  Fancy-Free-Grove- 
on-the-Hudson,  asks  if,  "able  seamen  in  the 
American  Navy  can  rise  to  be  officers." 

That  largely  depends  on  circumstances. 
Not  infrequently  able  seamen,  through  the 
absorption  of  too  much  "conflagration  fluid" 
493 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

are  unable  to  rise  at  all.  Officers  sometimes 
are  also  in  the  same  boat.  But  there  has  been 
quite  a  number  of  American  seamen  who  have 
proven  themselves  sufficiently  able  to  gain 
high  rank. 


R.  TWIGG  MOONER,  the  janitor  of  Mam 
moth  Cave,  Ky.,  in  a  real  gentlemanly  way, 
inquires  if  "  a  battle  has  ever  been  fought  on 
skates. ' ' 

We  beg  to  inform  Mr.  Mooner  that  a  battle 
wras  thus  fought  in  Holland  in  1572.  Last 
evening  we  witnessed  a  sharp,  decisive,  but 
not  a  protracted  battle  on  the  Bowery  between 
two  men  each  of  whom  had  a  skate  on.  These 
occurrences  are  not  so  rare  as  you  may  sup 
pose. 


MRS.  PAXKEY,  of  Squantum,  Mass.,  is 
anxious  to  ascertain  why  one  feels  inclined 
to  stretch  wyhen  tired.  The  encyclopaedias  do 
not  give  a  definite  reason  for  this  singular  phe 
nomenon.  In  common  with  most  animals  we 
are  apt  to  stretch  ourselves  upon  waking  from 
sleep.  We,  however,  knew  a  gentleman  who, 
a  few  years  ago,  was  stretched  by  others  with 
a  piece  of  hemp  just  before  he  went  to  sleep. 
He  has  been  asleep  ever  since. 
494 


Answers  to    Correspondents 

HARRY  GIXGERSXAP,  of  Patoisville,  New 
Mexico,  desires  a  careful  estimate  on  the  per 
centage  of  happy  honeymoons.  He  should 
have  sought  the  opinion  of  Brigham  Young  on 
that  point.  But  perhaps  the  Sultan  of  Turkey 
may  be  persuaded  to  offer  his  testimony. 

ABBIE  HELIBOXE,  of  Chicago,  writes:  "I 
am  writing  an  essay  which  I  hope  I  can  get 
permission  to  read  during  the  Paris  Exposition. 
Do  you  know  any  proverbs  that  I  could  weave 
into  my  essay  ?  Have  you  heard  anything 
funny  lately  that  hasn't  been  published?" 

Thanks,  Abbie,  for  your  kind  musk-scented 
note.  The  only  new  proverb  we  know  is  this: 
Flattery  is  the  best  emulsion  for  any  inflamed 
egotism.  The  only  thing  funny  we  have  heard 
lately  was  the  apology  a  creditor  of  ours  tried 
to  offer  for  coming  to  see  us  before  sunrise. 


FRAULEIX  LEXA  MYERS,  of  Hoboken, 
X.  J.,  in  a  recent  communication  says  :  "Will 
you  pardon  me  if  I  write  you  on  a  rather  deli 
cate  subject  ?  I  am  cursed  with  a  certain 
blemish  on  my  upper  lip  —  a  blemish  which 
annoys  me  exceedingly  and  about  which  I  am 
very  sensitive.  Oh,  I  would  do  anything  if  I 
could  get  rid  of  my  moustache.  I  feel  dread- 
495 


77ie  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

fully  about  it.  Would  you  mind  telling  me 
how  to  get  rid  of  it?  If  you  \vill  tell  me  I 
shall  be  more  than  grateful." 

Dear  Fraulein,  we  deeply  sympathize  with 
you  in  your  affliction.  We  receive  about 
five  thousand  letters  daily  from  young  ladies 
all  over  the  country  complaining  of  this  same 
misfortune. 

When  a  moustache  overtakes  a  young  lady 
on  her  upper  lip,  she  is  indeed  one  to  whom 
the  most  gentle  pity  should  be  extended.  We 
fear,  Lena,  you  must  resort  to  the  razor  in 
order  to  remove  the  inappropriate  growth. 
Get  up  every  morning  while  the  rest  of  the 
household  are  asleep  and  do  your  shaving. 
You  will  soon  learn  not  to  give  yourself  more 
than  three  or  four  cuts  at  a  time. 


T.  J.  X.  —  We  cannot  exchange  our  Water- 
bury  with  you  for  a  second-hand  lawn  mower. 


D.  S.— Yes,  Mr.  Hobart  Chatfield  —  Chat- 
field  Taylor  is  a  very  busy  man.  He  has 
greater  respect  for  authordoxy  than  he  did 
have. 


TAXPAYER. —  The  residents  of  Weehawken 
might    consent    to   a   change    in    the   nomen- 
496 


A  ns'wers  to    Correspondents 

clature  of  that  place  if  they  could  be  assured 
that  you  really  intended  to  locate  there. 


CARRIE  T. —  We  do  not  advise  you  to  keep 
steady  company  with  that  young  man.  You 
can't  anyway,  very  well,  as  you  say  he  is 
unsteady.  Suspend  him  from  your  society 
for  six  months,  and  have  him  shadowed  by  a 
detective  of  the  Parkhurst  Society. 


X.  Y.  Z.  —  The  Prince  of  Wales  is  not 
known  to  be  a  profane  man.  But  when  he  is 
alone  no  mortal,  of  course,  knows  but  that  he 
can  double  discount  the  proverbial  trooper. 


LONE  WIDOW.  —  Yes,  Madame,  Dr.  Tal- 
mage  went  to  Russia  to  do  a  Sing-Song  and 
dance  for  the  Czar  and  to  distribute  American 
wheat  in  the  famine-stricken  provinces.  We 
couldn't  help  but  smile  at  your  suggestion 
concerning  the  possibility  of  the  preacher 
being  sent  to  Siberia.  Were  you  really  seri 
ous  about  it  ? 


TESSIE  YULING,  Exema  Point,  Wis.— 
Your  son  is  old  enough  to  have  his  first  pair 
of  pants.  Please  make  them  so  he  will  know 
in  which  direction  he  is  traveling  when  he  is 
in  them. 

• 

497 


The  B<yw-Legged  Ghost 

KITTIE  B. —  We  have  never  known  of  a  flea 
jumping  the  distance  you  name.  Still,  if  you 
are  sure  you  saw  one  cover  that  number  of 
feet,  we  are  bound  by  all  the  rules  of  natural 
and  acquired  gallantry  to  believe  you. 


WILLIE.  —  Your  joke  about  boys  being  too 
full  of  sense  to  play  with  dolls  shows  consid 
erable  literary  ability.  Keep  on  and  you  may 
be  able  to  fill  Eli  Perkins'  shoes  some  day. 


Miss  SOMEBODY,  of  Elsewhere.  —  When  you 
croquet  a  ball  you  should  not  hit  your  ankle 
hard,  unless  you  prefer  to  hurt  your  ankle 
and  possibly  break  your  mallet.  Always  say 
something  bright  just  before  you  strike  the 
ball,  so  that  your  remark  will  make  a  hit, 
whether  the  ball  counts  or  not. 


L/YDIA. —  If  you  are  so  intensely  pious,  per 
haps  you  had  better  put  a  little  more  pleating 
on  your  bathing  suit  and  lengthen  it  at  all 
five  ends.  You  will  not  be  so  likely  to 
catch  cold  while  in  the  water  by  having  a  lit 
tle  more  of  the  suit;  and  judging  from  the 
photograph  you  sent  us,  your  friends  will  not 
be  disappointed  if  you  do  not  go  in  bathing 
more  than  once  this  summer. 
498 


Latest  from  Pinkville 

fHE   following   gems   of   local   information 
are    culled     from    the     Pinkville     Tattle 

s> 

Tale.-  — 

OUR  local  editor,  who  enjoys  the  perquisites 
attending  the  position  of  devil  in  our  office,  is 
on  the  sick  list.  Day  before  yesterday  he  ate 
a  hurried  luncheon  which  consisted  exclus 
ively  of  cheese.  He  attempted  to  make  a  will 
this  morning,  but  was  unable  to  finish  it  on 
account  of  fatigue.  As  we  go  to  press  we 
learn  that  he  is  sleeping  gently,  but  snoring 
at  the  rate  of  forty  miles  an  hour. 
* 

\VK  NOTICED  Uncle  Ben  Underwood,  of 
Rocky  Dell,  on  the  street  one  day  this  week. 
He  has  not  been  in  town  before  in  two  years. 
He  came  down  to  get  a  pound  of  chewing 
tobacco.  He  says  he  is  coming  down  again 
town-meeting  day.  He  says  he  is  coming  if 
he  has  to  ride.  Though  over  eighty  years  of 
age,  Uncle  Ben  prefers  walking  to  running 
any  day.  See? 

499 


The  Bo~M-Lcgged  Ghost 

WE  ARE  glad  to  see  Jason  Spriggs  out  and 
around  again.  Jason  has  had  a  pretty  hard 
siege  of  rheumatism.  He  says  he  thought,  at 
one  time,  he  heard  old  Gabe's  trumpet  calling 
him.  But  it  proved  to  be  a  false  alarm. 
* 

As  \VE  came  along  the  street  this  morning  we 
observed  Aunt  Betsey  Duggles  up  in  a  crab- 
apple  tree,  engaged  in  grafting.  We  asked 
her  if  she  was  not  afraid  of  falling.  She  said 
no,  but  that  Bill  Packing  was  afraid  she 
wouldn't.  Mr.  Packing,  who  lives  with  Aunt 
Betsey,  is  the  only  surviving  relative  and  her 

heir. 

* 

THE  American  House,  it  is  rumored,  is  to 
have  a  new  barber.  Heaven  knows  it  needs 
one.  Jimmy  Tuttle,  the  present  incumbent, 
has  cut  us  several  times,  not  only  in  the 
chair,  but  on  the  street.  We  suppose  this  is 
because  we  owe  him  for  several  shaves  and 
haircuts.  Creditors  usually  treat  those  who 
owe  them  with  great  respect.  But  it  is  not 
thus  in  Jimmy's  case. 
# 

STEVE   CUSTER,  of   Clover   Glade,   was  in 
town  yesterday.     He  called  on  us  and  we  sup 
pose  would  have  dunned  us  for  something  on 
500 


Latest  from   Pinkville 

account  of  the  $75  we  owe  him,  had  we  not 
diverted  his  thoughts  by  offering  to  bet  him 
$20  that  we  will  be  the  next  supervisor  of  this 
town.  No  money  was  exposed  to  view,  but 
we  shook  hands  on  it.  This  is  only  one  of  the , 
hundreds  of  ways  in  which  we  are  amassing  a 

lovely  fortune. 

* 

Miss  CARRIE  MURPHY  came  near  being  run 
away  with  last  Monday.  Miss  Jukes,  of  Rocky 
Dell,  who  is  visiting  her,  was  also  in  the 
wagon.  The  animal  became  frightened  at  the 
sound  of  a  cornet,  on  which  Charley  Double- 
day  was  practicing,  and  started  to  run.  George 
Blinkeye  saw  the  beast  coming  and  ran  out  in 
the  road  perchance  to  stop  it.  He  grasped  the 
mule  by  the  bit  and  succeeded  in  bringing  it 
to  a  standstill,  thus  gallantly  rescuing  Miss 
Murphy  and  her  friend  from  what  promised  to 
be  a  violent  collapse. 

* 

THE  Empire  and  Excelsior  Dramatic  Com 
pany  expect  to  give  a  performance  in  the  Town 
Hall,  this  village,  next  Tuesday  evening,  if 
the  roads  are  good.  The  play  they  present  is 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  said  to  be  the  work  of 
a  woman  by  the  name  of  Hattie  Stowe.  Miss 
Hibbs  takes  the  part  of  Topsy,  and  her  acting 

501 


Tlie  Bo~<.v-Legged  Ghost 

is  said  to  be  as  full  of  technique  as  a  canary  of 
cuttle  fish.  We  have  received  two  "comps," 
and  expect  to  be  there.  The  last  time  a  show 
visited  this  village  —  three  years  ago  —  our 
.wife  was  sick,  but  she  wrent  just  the  same  and 
took  our  hired  girl,  thus  obliging  us  to  stay  at 
home  and  take  care  of  the  youngsters. 

# 

UNCALLED  for  letters  in  the  Post  Office  are 
addressed  to  Thomas  Harkins  and  Miss  Julia 
De  Smith.  If  the  Postmaster  will  turn  over 
the  files  of  the  Tattle  Talc  for  1889,  he  will 
find  a  very  pretty  obituary  notice  of  Thomas 
Harkins.  We  suggest  that  the  communica 
tion  be  forwarded  to  the  Dead-Letter  Office. 
As  for  Miss  De  Smith,  we  understand  that  is 
the  nom  dc  plume  of  Miss  Maggie  O' Houli 
han,  old  Mr.  Priggle's  housekeeper.  Miss  De 
Smith  is  said  to  possess  unusual  literary  abil 
ity.  Two  years  ago  she  was  a  society  reporter 
for  a  big  New  York  daily,  while  in  the  domes 
tic  service  of  a  wealthy  family  in  Newport, 
Rhode  Island. 


502 


Slab  City  Gossip 

R  local  paper,  the  Havsccd  and  Ban- 
ncr  of  Liberty,  now  has  a  circulation  of 
four  hundred  and  three  copies  a  week. 
The  editor  has  introduced  several  new  and 
interesting  features  lately  into  the  paper, 
which  is  one  of  the  best  in  this  part  of 
the  State.  He  prints  a  column  of  original 
paragraphs  written  by  Mr.  Hiram  Higgins,  of 
Calf  Valley,  whose  ambition  to  be  America's 
greatest  humorist  seems  likely  to  be  realized 
if  nothing  happens.  The  Trotit  Creek  Bugle 
stole  two  or  three  of  his  jokes  in  last  week's 
issue  and  printed  them  as  original.  Here  are 
a  few  samples  of  Hiram's  style  :  — 

A  LONG-FELT  want  among  many  young  men 
in  this  section  —  a  plug  hat. 

REMUS  HAND,  who  does  the  chores  for 
Squire  Kittle,  and  Miss  Irene  Foote,  of  Pole 
Cat  Hollow,  were  united  in  the  bonds  of  wed 
lock  last  week.  Another  illustration  of  the 
old  adage,  "  Extremes  meet." 


The  Bo-Jc-Lcggcd  Ghost 

FISH  is  the  name  of  the  bootblack  at  the 
United  States  Hotel  in  this  village.  He  must 
be  a  shiner. 

DOUBTLESS  corns  have  made  sinners  of  men, 
but  it  took  a  Bunyan  to  make  a  Christian. 

OLD  CAL  TEETERTON,  the  hunter  and 
champion  fisherman  of  this  count}',  was  given 
a  little  birthday  spread  the  other  night  by  the 
boys  down  at  the  new  restaurant  run  by  Carl 
Wessler,  who  used  to  have  an  eating  house  in 
New  York  city.  The  food  was  immense,  and 
the  supply  of  champagne  plentiful.  Finally 
some  large  stewed  mushrooms  were  brought 
on  the  table.  Cal,  who  was  a  little  "sprung  " 
with  wine,  looked  dubiously  at  the  mush 
rooms  for  a  minute,  and  then  said  :  "I  pass  ; 
ye  can't  stuff  them  champagne  corks  down 
me." 

MINOR    MENTION 

HIRAM  HIGGINS  is  only  twenty  years  old. 
Everybody  here  thinks  he  has  a  bright  future 
in  front  of  him. 

LON  MOODY,  while  in  Albany  last  week, 
bought  a  six-dollar  banjo.  Before  long  we 
shall  expect  to  hear  Lon  play  anything,  as  he 
has  a  large  ear  —  two  in  fact  —  for  music. 

5°4 


Slab    City    Gossip 

THE  Widow  Baker  thinks  some  of  going 
into  the  dressmaking  business.  She  lost  her 
breach  of  promise  case  against  John  Tucker, 
the  cooper,  who  married  Lizzie  Wilder  while 
on  the  excursion  which  the  M.  E.  Sunday 
School  took  to  Fair}-  Cave  and  Wintergreen 
Falls  a  few  weeks  since. 

Miss  TESSIE  UPDYKE,  while  sitting  before 
an  open  window  sewing  on  an  insane  quilt 
which  she  is  making  for  her  sister  Caroline, 
who  is  going  to  be  married  next  fall  to  Will 
Ferris,  who  clerks  in  Rudd's  grocery  store, 
came  pretty  near  being  struck  by  lightning 
last  Thursday  afternoon,  during  the  severe 
thunder  storm.  She  says  she  can't  imagine 
what  attracted  the  lightning  as  she  was  using 
a  very  fine  needle  at  the  time  and  her  scissors 
were  in  her  work  basket. 


505 


are  several  kinds  of  nuts  in  this 
tMJ*  world  of  ours,  including  the  peanut,  the 
walnut,  the  chestnut,  and  the  doughnut. 
The  peanut  is  practically  unknown  to  Pari 
sians,  and  so  is  chewing  gum  and  pop  corn. 
An  active  peanut  stand  and  gum  shop  in  Paris 
would  pay  mighty  well,  and  this  valuable  tip 
I  am  glad  to  offer  gratuitously  to  business  men 
and  women  who  happen  to  be  out  of  employ 
ment.  As  for  the  walnut,  it  should  be  taken 
with  salt  like  a  good  man}-  stories  found  in 
the  columns  of  the  daily  press.  Chestnuts 
taste  best  when  partially  cremated.  There 
are  several  varieties  of  chestnut.  We  will 
pass  over  the  kind  retailed  by  the  tidy  Italians 
on  the  street  corners  and  proceed  to  enumerate 
a  few  other  kinds,  viz.,  the  moral  chestnut, 
the  dramatic  chestnut,  the  paragraphic  chest 
nut,  and  the  et  cetera  chestnut. 

The  doughnut  generally  grows  quickly  in  a 
warm,  smoky  kitchen,  and  sometimes  while  it 
is    ripening   it  gets  lively  enough  to  suggest 
506 


A    Short  Essay  on  ATztts 

the  notion  that  if  it  so  wished  it  could  easily 
jump  from  the  frying  pan  into  the  fire.  A 
famous  actress,  when  she  is  not  interested  in 
her  surroundings,  always  eats  peanuts  to  pass 
the  time  away.  I  know  a  clergyman  who  eats 
peanuts  and  milk  just  before  he  goes  to  bed 
every  night.  He  says  this  diet  enables  him  to 
get  to  sleep  without  extra  efforts  or  some 
stronger  opiate. 

People  who  live  in  the  country  lay  in  a 
supply  of  butternuts  for  winter  use,  if  possi 
ble.  It  requires  quite  an  ingenious  person  to 
crack  them  with  a  hammer  on  the  edge  of  a 
flatiron.  Either  the  nut,  or  the  hammer,  or 
the  flatiron,  or  the  hand  holding  the  nut, 
or  the  hand  holding  the  hammer,  or  all,  are 
liable  to  slip  and  give  the  left  thumb  and  fore 
finger  a  black  eye,  as  it  were. 

There  is  an  old  trick  played  with  the 
almond  nut  which  was  excessively  com  me  il 
faiit  in  Adam's  time.  You  take  an  almond 
nut,  peel  it,  and  shape  it  into  something  of 
the  form  and  size  of  a  little  wax  taper. 
Then  you  cut  out  of  an  apple  a  circular 
piece,  so  that  it  will  represent  a  nearly 
used-up  candle.  Stick  the  piece  of  almond 
in  the  center  of  the  candle-shaped  piece  of 
apple  and  light  it.  The  almond  will  burn 


The  Bo~&-Leggcd  Ghost 

brightly  until  exhausted,  and  this  simple 
diversion  at  the  conclusion  of  a  banquet  is  a 
nice  thing  for  a  diffident  young  man,  who  is 
not  ready  at  small  talk,  to  introduce. 

That  is  all  I  think  of  just  now  that  bears 
even  remotely  on  the  subject.  —  Auf  Wied- 
ersehen. 


Interviewing  a  Typewriter 

"If3    WANT,"    observed    the    present    pencil- 

SMI® 

M-.   driver  to  a  slender,  bewitching  brunette 
who  works  in  a  business  office  on  Lower 
Broadway,  "  to  get  your  opinion  of  typewrit 
ing  as  an  employment  for  young  ladies. ' ' 

"Ah,"  murmured  the  brunette,  and  then 
she  blushed  as  though  conscious  that  a  tardy 
fame  was  about  to  be  conferred  on  her. 
"Well,"  she  continued,  after  a  little  hesita 
tion,  "  it  is  a  good  business  for  those  who  are 
quick,  wide-awake,  and  well  posted,  and  — 
and  —  pretty."' 

The  last  word  seemed  to  recall  her  defens 
ively  to  herself,  and  she  allowed  silence  to 
reign  until  I  ventured  to  remark,  "So  far,  so 
good.  But  has  not  the  employment  its  charms 
as  well  as  its  annoyances  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  "it  has.  I  did  not 
learn  the  business  with  a  view  to  working  at 
it  all  my  life.  You  know,  of  course,  the  aim 
of  all  girls,  or  at  least  most  of  them,  is  to 
marry  well.  As  a  rule,  marrying  well  to  a 
509 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

girl  means  marrying  a  zrr//-thy  man.  Excuse 
my  pun.  I  became  a  typewriter  in  order  to 
make  myself  known  to  men  of  business  and 
wealth  who  are  looking  for  a  first,  second,  or 
even  a  third  wife.  I  don't  know  but  I 
would  accept  the  hand  of  a  rich  man  who  is 
looking  for  his  fourth  wife,  but  I  should  draw 
the  line  there.  I  was  not  born  with  a  silver 
spoon  in  my  mouth.  My  childhood  was  full 
of  misery,  for  my  father  drank  and  my  mother 
was  dead.  One  of  my  brothers  committed  an 
offense  which  doomed  him  for  life  to  state 
prison,  when  he  was  scarcely  old  enough  to 
vote,  and  another  brother  went  crazy,  and  is 
now  in  confinement  at  the  asylum  for  the 
Chronic  Insane  at  Middletown.  Oh,  sir, 
you  do  not  know  to  what  extremes  a  girl  like 
me  may  be  put  to  save  her  honor!  But  I 
am  here  doing  my  work  faithfully  day  by  day, 
and  out  of  my  weekly  stipend  of  eleven  dol 
lars  support  myself  and  a  younger  sister. 

"My  friend,  Josie  Sadler,  who  worked  in 
this  office  before  me,  in  fact  on  this  very  ma 
chine,  married  the  other  day  a  man  who  is 
worth  half  a  million.  She  played  in  luck.  But 
I  don't  know  wThat  the  upshot  of  my  destiny 
will  be.  There  was  a  girl  in  the  next  office 
who  suddenly  disappeared  last  month  and  she 
510 


Interviewing'  a    Type-writer 

has  not  been  heard  of  since.  One  old  fellow 
comes  in  here  who  pats  me  on  the  back  and 
says  he  loves  brunettes  and  is  a  bachelor  and 
worth  a  cool  million.  I  like  him  immensely 
and  do  not  think  him  a  bad  man  at  all,  though 
someone  told  me  he  takes  snuff.  But  I  must 
finish  this  copy.  Come  in  again  some  time  and 
I  will  tell  you  about  typewriting  as  an  employ 
ment  for  women.1' 


A   Woman's   Weapon 

SCENE   I  —  Editorial  Room  of  the  "  Dude's 
Companion  " 

Miss  Prudy  (  the  manager  )  —  I  told  you 
yesterday  very  distinctly,  Mr.  Brazonwood, 
that  you  were  to  collect  no  more  accounts  for 
this  magazine,  but  to  devote  your  energies  en 
tirely  to  your  editorial  duties. 

Mr.  Brazonwood — I  fear  you  forget,  dear 
madame,  that  it  was  I  who  secured  most  of 
the  advertisements  and  that  you  promised  to 
give  me  a  liberal  commission  for  so  doing. 

Miss  Prudy  —  You  will  get  your  commis 
sion,  when  we  come  to  a  settlement.  But 
you  are  not  authorized  to  make  any  collections 
—  see? 

Brazonwood — But  in  the  meantime  how  am 
I  to  live  ?  You  have  not  paid  me  a  cent  of  my 
salary,  which  was  to  be  $3.50  a  week,  and  I 
have  been  working  for  you  going  on  two 
months. 

Miss  Prudy  —  You  should  not  complain. 
You  enjoy  the  honor  of  being  an  assistant 
512 


A    Woman '.v   Weapon 

editor  of  what  is  going  to  be  in  a  short  time 
one  of  the  greatest  publications  in  the  country. 
The  moment  it  begins  to  pay  I  shall  increase 
your  salary  and  pay  you  every  commission  on 
"  ads"  to  which  you  are  entitled. 

Brazonu'ood — That  will  not  do.  I  shall 
have  to  keep  the  money  I  collected  on  the  Gen 
tlemen's  Corset  "ad."  this  morning,  as  part 
payment  of  my  salary  and  commission  on  same. 
I  cannot  stand  off  my  landlady  any  longer. 

Miss  Prudy  (waxing  wroth) — You  area 
mean,  contemptible  man.  Fork  over  that 
money  or  I'll  have  you  arrested. 

Brazomi'ood — Do  your  worst. 

Miss  Prudy  —  Give  me  that  money,  I  say. 

Brazomcood — Well,  I  guess  not. 

Miss  Pnidy ,  in  a  violent  spasm  of  rage,  tears 
a  large,  heavy  amethyst  ring  from  her  finger 
and  hurls  it  at  Brazonwood.  The  ring  strikes 
Brazonwood1  s  nose  and  drops  on  the  floor.  Bra- 
zonwood  picks  it  up  and  calmly  puts  it  into  his 
pocket. 

Brazonwood — I  am  hungry,  not  having 
eaten  anything  in  over  twenty-four  hours.  If 
anyone  asks  for  me,  you  can  say  I  have  gone 
out  to  feed.  Ta,  ta. 

Miss  Prudy  falls  in  a  su'oon. 


The  Bo~A-Leggcd  Ghost 

SCENE  II  —  A   Pawnbroker's  Shop  on  Park  Row. 

Brazonwood — How  much  can  you  let  me 
have  on  this  beautiful  amethyst?  It  was 
once  worn  by  the  famous  Adelaide  Xeilson. 

Pawnbroker —  Xot  more  den  eighty  cents. 

Brazonwood —  \Yhat  ! 

Pawnbroker — Dot's  rot  I  said.  Xot  a  cent 
more. 

Brazenwood  —  Take  it.  My  name  is  Mud, 
and  I  live  in  Hoboken.  I  was  an  assistant  ed 
itor  of  a  great  magazine  less  than  an  hour  ago, 
but  I'm  not  now.  I  intend  to  apply  for  a  sit 
uation  in  the  Street  Cleaning  Department, 
where  the  hours  are  eas)7  and  there's  nothing 
to  do.  Good  day. 


5H 


Trade  Journalism 

§PECIALIZATION  is  the  tendency  of  the 
hour,"  remarked  Ruggles  to  his  wife 
the  other  evening.  "It  is  especially 
so  in  journalism.  I  fear  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  sell  Literary  Miscellany  before  long  and  go 
into  some  special  line  as  an  editor.  It's 
getting  so  now  that  everything  and  everybody 
must  have  an  official  organ.  Before  many 
moons  we  shall  hear  the  newsboys  shouting, 
Rvening  Clog  Dance,  Morning  Cosmetic  Re 
porter,  Morning  Review  of  the  Undertakers" 

"Why,  Peter,  what  on  earth  do  you 
mean?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ruggles,  with  a 
shiver. 

"Just  exactly  what  I'm  saying,  L,avinia, 
dear.  By  the  way,  speaking  of  undertakers, 
there's  a  fellow  who  has  started  an  organ  de 
voted  to  them,  and  what  do  you  suppose  he 
calls  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  imagine.      What?" 

'  The  Sunnyside.  The  name  has  a  ridicu 
lous  flavor  of  irony,  hasn't  it?  No,  Lavinia, 
515 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

I  tell  you  we  have  not  come  to  the  end  of  our 
tether  in  trade  journalism,  by  any  manner  of 
means.  Xew  papers  of  the  sort  I  have  alluded 
to  are  springing  up  every  day  and  '  still  there's 
more  to  follow,'  as  the  sacred  song  goes. 

' '  In  the  near  future  they  will  be  devoted  to 
undreamed  of  specialties,  if  I'm  any  prophet. 
Take  dogs  for  instance.  There  probably  will 
be  The  Pug  Dogs'  Gazette,  The  Poodles'  Journal , 
The  Yorkshire  Terriers'  Budget,  The  Irish  Set 
ters  Messenger,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  all. 
Then,  Lavinia,  there  probably  will  be  The  In 
valids'  Solace,  The  Typhoid  Patients"  Banner, 
The  Alchohol  Consumers'  Leader,  The  Dolls' 
Chronicle,  The  Canary  Birds'  Herald,  The 
Feline  Record,  The  Newsboys'  Repository,  Jin- 
Bootblacks'  Register,  The  Automobile  Age,  The 
Flying  Machine  Budget,  T/ie  Head  Waiters' 
Bazar,  The  Chambermaids'  Rei'ieic,  The  Floor 
Walkers'  Delight,  The  Seamstresses'  Beacon, 
The  Gamblers'  Sympathizer,  The  Hansom 
Drivers'  Companion,  The  James  Dandy  Side 
Splitter ' '  — 

But  just  at  that  juncture  in  his  remarks, 
Ruggles  heard  a  staccato  snore,  and,  gazing  at 
his  spouse,  he  observed  that  she  had  fallen 
into  the  deepest  abyss  of  living  slumber. 


516 


Fall  Proverbs 

AN  echo  is  the  football  of  sound. 

* 
ORATORY  is  like  cheese  ;  it  is  apt  to  get  too 

full  of  life. 

* 

A  BABY  ought  to  know  when  to  cry,  and  it 

generally  does. 

* 

THE  most  beautiful   woman  that  ever  lived 

died  in  her  babyhood. 

* 

THE  country  girl  now  prepareth  to  swoop 
down  on  the  metropolis. 
* 

SNORING  is  said  to  indicate  sound  health. 
Hearers  of  snoring  demur  on  the  sound. 

* 

ASKED  by  the  judge  why  he  had  fallen  so 
low,  the  vagrant  replied,  "  L,ost  my  balance  — 

in  the  bank." 

* 

MEN  are  often  dragooned  into  making 
daring  promises  under  the  soothing  influences 
of  a  good  dinner. 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

DISTRICT  Attorneys  who  convict  the  inno 
cent  merely  in  order  to  get  a  political  pull  will 
get  it  in  the  neck  on  the  day  of  judgment. 


Do  NOT  despise  the  linen  duster  because  it 
is  no  longer  en  regie.  Remember  it  may  be 
on  some  one  else  next  summer  if  you  lose  the 

ticket. 

* 

MEN  largely  occupy  themselves  in  inter 
changing  contempt  for  each  other.  The  mer 
chant  sarcastically  belittles  the  literary  man, 
and  vice  versa. 

* 

No  ONE  will  get  to  heaven  any  sooner  by 
following  an  asthmatic  drum  through  the 
streets  and  howling,  "The  Lamb,  the  Lamb, 
the  bleeding  Lamb." 

* 

IT  is  believed  by  some  people  that  David  B. 
Hill  will  ere  long  be  singing  "  Go  to  sleep,  my 
baby,"  in  his  new  residence  "  Hunnah  villa," 
on  the  upper  Hudson. f 


t  This  paragraph  was  written  some  time  ago,  and  up  to  the 
hour  of  going  to  press  the  prophecy  remained  unfulfilled. 

THE  ArTHOR. 


Fall  Proverbs 

vSo  VERY  German  seemeth  they  — 

The  dolls  with  which  Queen  Vic  did  play. 

It  would  not  much  astonish  me 

If  now,  snatched  from  obscurity, 

They  should  in  accents  quaint  and  queer, 

Demand  a  foaming  stein  of  beer. 


NAME  all  of  the  triumphs  of  art  that  jrou  can  — 
Of  the  triumphs  attained  by  the  genius  of  man  ; 
Of  wars  and  of  commerce,  religion,  the  press; 
Of  cunning  inventions  that  hands  may  toil  less ; 
But  leave  out  the  maiden  whose  heart  you  enthrall 
And  you  leave  out  the  greatest  achievement  of  all. 


5 '9 


Some  Possible  Titles  of  Future  Books* 

« «Tp^  IFFEREXT  Things  I   Might  Have  Been 
*&     and  Not  Half  Tried,"  by  F.  Hopkin- 

e^jj-S 

son  Smith. 

"Reasons  Why  I  Might  Have  Been  Mis 
taken  for  Darwin  the  Naturalist,"  by  the  late 
Charles  A.  Dana. 

"  Blubber,  and  How  to  Treat  Too  Much  of 
It,"  by  Lillian  Russell. 

' '  Longevity  of  English  Queens  and  the 
Remedy,"  by  the  Prince  of  Wales,  the  well- 
known  lover  of  the  game  of  baccarat. 

"  Why  I  Am  not  a  Rival  of  Edwin  Booth,'' 
by  Joseph  Choate,  LL.  D. ,  and  Ambassador  to 
Great  Britain. 

•'The  Rector  of  St.  George's,"  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Rainsford. 

"The  Times  I  Might  Have  Died,"  by  an 
engineer  who  has  to  work  his  train  the  best 
he  can  over  the  One-hundred-and-tenth- street 
curve  on  the  New  York  elevated  railroad. 

*  Revised  contributions  that  first  appeared  in  Judge. 
C20 


Some   Possible    T'itlcs  of  future  Books 

"Whiskers  of  Great  Men  Saved,"  by  a 
tonsorial  artist  in  a  swell  metropolitan  hotel. 

"  Pretty  Ankles  of  Great  Beauties,"  by  the 
humble  clerk  in  a  big  shoe  store. 

"Hats  that  Rich  Women  Have  Bought 
of  Me,"  by  a  fashionable  milliner. 

' '  The  Journal  of  a  Lunatic  Who  Lives  in 
Bloomingdale,"  edited  by  another  lunatic. 

"  Ethics  of  a  Livery  Stable,"  by  a  hireling 
of  the  owner  of  the  said  Livery  Stable. 

' '  Why  I  Should  not  Like  to  Have  Been 
Artemus  Ward,"  by  R.  J.  Burdette. 

' '  Notes  I  Have  Not  Given  to  the  News 
papers  About  the  East  Side  Slums,"  by 
' '  Chuck  ' '  Connors. 

"Anecdotes  of  Mine  that  Most  Pleased  the 
Prince  of  Wales  and  His  Friends  when  I  Was 
in  London,"  by  Col.  Thomas  P.  Ochiltree. 

"  The  Chewing  Gum  of  the  Future,"  by  a 
recent  Vassar  College  graduate. 

"How  I  Shall  Bring  All  the  Planets  into 
Communication  with  Each  Other,"  by  Thomas 
A.  Edison. 

"Corns  That  I  Never  Allow  Any  One  to 
Tread  Upon,"  by  Nicola  Tesla. 

"Why  I  Stay  Abroad  Most  of  the  Time," 
by  James  Gordon  Bennett. 
521 


The  Bo-w- Legged  Ghost 

"  Why  I  Prefer  Europe  for  Residential  Pur 
poses,"  by  Joseph  Pulitzer. 

"My  Recreations:  The  Only  Authentic  Ac 
count,"  by  Jack  the  Ripper. 

"The  United  States,"  by  an  English  girl 
who  traveled  in  them  over  four  weeks.  This 
book  is  intended  to  be  a  reply,  at  least  in  part, 
to  Dickens' s  "  American  Notes,"  Matthew  Ar 
nold's  strictures  on  Uncle  Sam's  dominions, 
and  to  other  Englishmen  who  have  not  found 
much  to  relish  in  Yankeeland. 

' '  Peculiar  Folks,  and  Why  I  Am  One  of 
Them,"  by  Joaquin  Miller,  the  Oakland  fCal.) 
hermit,  formerly  a  great  lion  in  London  liter 
ary  circles. 

' '  Why  I  Like  Myself  Better  than  Anybody 
Else/'  by  William  J.  Bryan. 

"How  To  Be  a  Successful  Acrobat  and 
Word-Thrower  in  the  Pulpit,"  by  T.  DeWitt 
Talmage. 

"  People  Who  Like  My  Novels,"  by  Laura 
Jean  Libbey. 

"Why  I  Should  Be  the  Next  Candidate  of 
Both  Parties,"  by  Belva  Lockwood. 

"A  Guide  to  Postprandial  Oratory,"  by 
C.  M.  Depew. 

"The  Art  of  Rearing  Moustaches,"  by 
522 


Some  Possible    Titles  of  Future  Books 

Honorable  and  also  General  E.  F.  Jones,  of 
Binghamton. 

"Gossip  from  Nirvana,"  by  the  late  Mad 
ame  Blavatsky. 

' '  My  First  Remembrances  of  Grove, ' '  by 
Elizabeth  Cleveland. 

"An  Account  of  the  Mouse  Trap  I  In 
vented/'  by  the  late  Jay  Gould. 

' '  Me  and  the  Other  Prophets, ' '  by  Sergeant 
Dunn. 

;'The  Eight  Fantastic;  or  How  to  Emerge 
from  Obscurity  All  Standing,"  by  Carmencita. 

"The  World's  Fair,  and  Why  It  Failed," 
by  a  disappointed  Chicago  speculator  in  real 
estate. 

"  How  I  Acquired  My  Fluency  in  the  Ger 
man  Tongue,"  by  Buffalo  Bill. 

"What  I  Know  About  Being  President," 
by  Mark  M.  Hanna. 

"  Choosing  the  Bride,"  a  romance,  by  Gen. 
John  Schofield. 

"A  Eifetime  Maiden,"  by  Susan  B.  An 
thony. 

' '  The  Problem  of  Rapid  Transit  in  New 
York,"  by  a  messenger  boy. 

"  Explorations  in  Eong  Island,"  by  the  late 
Austin  Corbin. 

523 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

"Reveries  by  the  Hudson  at  Sing  Sing," 
by  a  Distinguished  Inmate. 

"The  Truth  About  Those  Spoons,"  by  the 
late  Gen.  B.  F.  Butler. 

"Climbing  the  North  Pole,"  by  Lieutenant 
Peary. 

"My  Career  as  a  Dramatist,"  by  the  late 
Bill  Nye. 

"Tentative  Sobriety,"  by  John  L.  Sullivan. 

"Baseball  as  a  Bread- Winner,''  by  A. 
Anson. 

' '  How  to  Re-upholster  the  Original  Thirty- 
five  Jokes,"  by  Mark  Twain. 

"  Free  Lunch  Memories,"  by  the  late 
James  Owen  O'Connor. 

"Men  I  Might  Have  Loved,"  by  Belva 
Lock  wood. 

"Rights  We  Girls  Insist  on  Having,"  by 
Susie  B.  Anthony. 

' '  The  Women  That  Would  Have  Been  De 
lighted  to  Marry  Me,"  by  Herman  Oelrichs. 

"  Emotions  that  Possessed  Me  on  Becoming 
Convinced  that  My  Flying  Machine  Would 
Really  Work,"  by  Thomas  A.  Edison. 

"  If  I  Had  Broken  Loose  as  a  Novelist,  In 
stead  of  a  Dramatist,  in  the  First  Place,"  by 
Archie  Clavering  Gunter,  the  literary  mil 
lionaire. 

524 


Some  Possible    Titles  of  Future  Books 

"  Ben  Butler  in  the  Whitehouse  :  a  Romance 
Founded  Upon  My  Own  and  Mr.  Butler's 
Imagination,"  by  the  late  Charles  A.  Dana, 
the  former  "It's  so"  editor  of  the  New 
York  Sun. 

' '  A  Few  of  My  Farewell  Tours, ' '  by  Adel- 
ina  Patti,  nee  Baroness  Cedarstrom. 

"  The  Secret  of  My  Greatness  and  Popular 
ity,"  by  Edward  Atkinson. 

"Winds  that  Have  Blown  through  My 
Whiskers,"  by  Ex-Senator  Peffer,  of  Kansas. 

"The  Philosophy  of  My  Immortal  Poetry," 
by  Mr.  Cutler,  of  Long  Island. 

"  Orations  I  Would  Deliver  if  I  Were  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States,"  by  Dr.  C.  M. 
Depew. 

"Anthropological  Humor,  and  How  to  Ac 
quire  It  in  Large  Quantities  for  Commercial 
Purposes,"  by  Eli  Perkins. 

"  Hymnology  for  Thespians,"  by  Miss  Mag 
gie  Cline,  with  an  introductory  essay  on  "  The 
Moral  Grandeur  of  the  Variety  Stage,"  by 
Antonio  Pastor. 

"The  Past,  Present,  and  Future  Rate  of 
Speed  of  the  Sun,"  by  the  Rev.  John  Jasper. 

"  How  It  Feels  to  be  the  Most  Disappointed 
Man  in  the  World,"  by  D.  B.  Hill. 

' '  People  Who  Killed  Themselves  Laughing 
52? 


The  Boiv-Legged  Ghost 

at  My  Jokes,"  by  Mr.  Burnand,  Editor  of 
London  Punch. 

' '  Wait  Till  I  Dramatize  the  Book  of  Pro 
verbs :  a  Prognostic  Analysis  of  Myself,"  by 
Richard  Mansfield. 

"Lessons  Derived  from  Opportunities  of 
Seeing  More  of  the  Obscene  than  Anybody 
Else,"  by  Anthony  Comstock. 

"The  Secret  of  Being  Good,"  by  Mrs. 
Leslie  Carter. 

"  How  One  May  Try  to  be  Funny  and 
Sometimes  be  Funny,"  by  De  Wolf  Hopper. 

' '  The  Wretch  with  a  Sallow  Face  and  a 
White  Liver,"  being  the  confessions  of  a 
mugwump. 

' '  Why  I  Try  So  Hard  to  Impress  People  by 
Simply  Using  Queer  Words  I  Have  Looked 
Out  in  Webster  and  in  Other  Books,"  by 
Nym  Crinkle. 

"A  Commentary  on  Love.  How  and 
Where  It  Hits  You  First  and  the  Manner  of 
Its  Subsequent  Conduct."  Done  in  richly 
tinted  moonlight  verse,  by  Minna  Irving,  the 
Tarrytown  Archpriestess  of  rhyme  —  with 
and  without  reason. 

"Reveries  of  a  Bachelor  —  Not  Ik  Mar 
vel's,"  by  D.  B.  Hill. 


Some   Possible    Trifles  of  Future  J3ooks 

"Bridge-Jumping  as  a  Nerve  Tonic,"  by 
Steve  Brodie. 

"Recollections  of  the  L,ate  Mr.  Crowley," 
by  Miss  Kitty  Murphy. 

"  Claws  in  Every  Contract,''  by  R.  Croker, 
Keeper  of  the  Tammany  Tiger  and  King  of 
Greater  New  York. 

' '  Political  Scales  that  Have  Dropped  from 
Mine  Eyes,"  by  Matthew  S.  Quay. 

"Provisions  for  Ventilation  in  My  Future 
Home,"  by  the  late  Col.  R.  G.  Ingersoll. 

'  The  Differences  Between  Edwin  Booth 
and  Me,"  by  the  late  James  Owen  O'Connor, 
try-gedian. 

"  Solitude  as  a  Panacea  for  Morbidity,"  by 
Joaquin  Miller,  ex-literary  lion  of  L,ondon 
and  New  York. 

' '  What  I  Know  about  School  Reform  and  a 
Good  Man}'  Other  Things,"  by  Colonel  Abe 
Slupsky. 

' '  Fin  de  Siecle  Presby terianism  and  what  It 
Cost  Me,"  by  the  late  Jay  Gould,  author  of 
"The  History  of  Delaware  County.  New 
York,"  and  inventor  of  a  patent  mouse  trap. 


527 


Favorite  Animals  in  the  Park 


*s  -our  favorite  animal?"  I 
asked  a  bright-eyed  little  fellow  who 
was  watching  the  grotesquely  human 
evolutions  of  the  chimpanzee  in  Central  Park. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  with  a 
blush.  "But  I  think  I  like  to  watch  ele 
phants  the  best.  I  like  lions,  too  ;  they  look 
so  strong  and  noble.  '  ' 

The  next  one  to  be  interrogated  was  a  little 
girl  about  eight  years  old.  "Oh,  I  prefer 
snakes  to  anything.  It  makes  my  heart  jump 
to  see  them  wiggle  around  and  run  out  their 
black  tongues.  But  they  are  so  graceful,  and 
some  of  them,  I  think,  are  very  pretty." 

"Aren't  you  afraid  of  being  charmed?" 

"Oh,  my  sakes,  no/' 

Bowing  to  this  diminutive  Elsie  Venner,  I 
advanced  toward  another  little  girl,  some 
what  older  than  the  first  one. 

"I  like  birds  best,"  she  said,  "those  from 
far-off  countries,  that  have  beautiful  plumage. 
How  I  would  like  to  have  some  of  their 

528 


Favorite  Animals  in  the   Park 

feathers  on  my  hats.      They  would  make  all 
my  friends  mad  as  hops." 

' '  Of  what  savage  beast  are  you  fondest  ? ' ' 
' '  I  used  to  like  bears  the  best.  But  Uncle 
Ralph  nearly  got  killed  by  one  last  summer  in 
the  Catskills,  and  now  I  detest  them.  I  like 
camels  because  they  look  so  meek  and  patient. 
Our  minister  has  been  where  they  use  camels 
the  same  as  we  do  horses.  He  lectures  about 
it  every  little  while  and  talks  about  the  Arabs 
he  saw  in  Africa  where  he  was  a  missionary. ?? 
About  fifty  other  little  folks,  male  and 
female,  were  asked  to  name  their  favorite 
animal,  with  this  result:  — 

BOYS  GIRLS 

Elephants    9  i 

Lions 4  i 

Snakes i  8 

Bison 4  10 

Monkeys 10  i 

Birds .  .  on 


34  529 


Some  Novel  Prizes 

FOLLOWING  the  example  of  big  dailies  in 
the  principal  cities  that  have  made  a 
stupendous  success  out  of  the  gift-enter 
prise  system,  the  editor  of  Hollyhock  Hollow 
Bugle  has  decided  to  offer  prizes  for  the  best 
epic  poem  on  ' '  Hard  Times. ' '  Competitors 
are  required  to  use  brown  wrapping  paper,  and 
write  on  both  sides,  without  numbering  the 
sheets  or  punctuating  their  MSS. 

The  poems  must -exceed  Milton's  "  Paradise 
Lost"  in  length,  and  the  author  is  requested 
to  sign  his  grandfather's  name  on  his  mother's 
side,  not  necessarily  for  publication,  but  as  a 
guarantee  that  the  author  knows  who  his  an 
cestors  were.  Anarchistic  residents  of  Illinois 
are  barred  out  from  this  competition. 

First  Prize  —  A  rattlebox  with  which 
Chauncey  M.  Depew  played  in  his  childhood. 

Second  Prize — A  paint  brush  in  good  con 
dition,  used  by  Queen  Elizabeth  to  blacken 
her  teeth. 

530 


Some  Novel  Prizes 

Third  Prize  —  An  umbrella  which  was  bor 
rowed  from  George  Washington  by  Lafayette, 
and  returned. 

Fourth  Prize  —  An  embalmed  dog  that  died 
at  a  tender  age  in  Philadelphia  unbeknown  to 
the  sausage-makers. 

Fifth  Prize  —  A  trunk  once  owned  by  Gail 
Hamilton  which  passed  over  a  New  Jersey 
road  without  being  smashed. 

Sixth  Prize  —  A  quart  of  Vermicelli  soup 
cooked  to  order  for  Napoleon  just  before  the 
Battle  of  Waterloo,  but  which  he  didn't  have 
time  to  eat.  It  can  be  warmed  over. 

N.  B. —  These  prizes  have  been  selected 
from  the  Bugle  museum  and  are  among  the 
most  costly  specimens  in  the  collection. 


Home-Made  Sauce 

A  HANDSOME  brunette  always  makes  a  de 
cided  hit  in  society,  although  she  carries  the 

black  eye. 

* 

SWEET  Evelina  from  the  suffocating  em 
brace  of  her  love  cried  out :  ' '  Give  me  liberty 

or  give  me  breath." 

* 

MAY  IRWIN  calls  the  train  of  her  new  silk 
dress  "  Cyclone,"  because  it  sweeps  everything 

before  it. 

* 

THERE  has  been  no  prohibitory  law  this 
winter  in  any  of  the  States  against  the  young 
men  sleighing  their  dears. 

* 

THE  mutual  duties  of  the  church  deacon 
and  the  monkey  are  to  gather  in  contributions 
while  the  organ  plays. 

* 

THE  target  of  perfection  has  to  be  aimed  at 
from  such  a  long  range  that   only   one  man 
ever  hit  the  bull's  eye. 
532 


Home-Made  Sauce 

THERE  is  one  difference  at  least  between  a 
drunkard  and  a  dead  man.     One  takes   beer 
aboard,  the  other  is  taken  aboard  a  bier. 
* 

A  DISHONEST  man.  like  a  wheezy  organ, 
may  stand  upright  ;  but  his  music  will  always 
be  flat  if  he  tries  to  play  sharp —  on  the  notes 

against  him. 

* 

A  PRETTY  young  blonde  is  certain  to  be 
come  the  reigning  social  belle,  but  there  is 
danger  of  her  being  cracked  like  the  ' '  Old 
Independent,"  if  she  is  tolled  so  too  many 

times. 

* 

SUMNER  ELLIS  wrote  a  number  of  beati 
tudes,  among  which  we  find  this  suggestive 
one  for  dejected  politicians:  "Blessed  is  the 
man  who  can  contentedly  give  up  what  he 

must. ' ' 

* 

THE  crying  baby  at  a  public  meeting  is  like 
a  good  suggestion  :  it  ought  to  be  carried  out. 

* 

"  I  HEAR  their  gentle  voices  calling,'1  said 
Muggins,  as  he  wormed  himself  out  of  his 
warm  bed,  hunted  in  vain  for  the  bootjack, 
and  wofully  gazed  out  of  the  window  upon 
the  nocturnal  choir. 

533 


The  BO~JJ- Legged  Ghost 

NEW  YORK  has  a  case  of  Battery  without 

the  assault. 

* 

IT  is  better  to  skip  the  gutter  than  your 

board  bill. 

* 

ALL  composers  decompose  in  death. 
* 

HE  THAT  denies  a  fact  acknowledges   his 
own  ignorance. 

* 

SOME  of  the  loudest-mouthed  guns  in  the 
world  have  the  Kruppe. 

* 

WHEN  a  young  man  receives  the  mitten,  he 
is  generally  handled  without  gloves. 

* 

WHY  is  it  that  an  interrogation  point  and 
the  human  ear  resemble  each  other? 
* 

THE  Frenchman  talks  through  his  nose  be 
cause  he  is  afraid  of  wearing  out  his  mouth. 

* 

NEVER  borrow  more  than  you  can  pay  back 
and  never  lend  more  than  you  can  borrow. 
534 


Home-Made  Sauce 

L/ORD  BYRON'S  club  foot  might  have  ren 
dered  him  one  of  the  most  natural  base  ballists 

of  his  time. 

* 

THE  queenliness  of  a  woman's  bearing  must 
alone  spring  from  the  royalty  of  her  heart. 


PEOPLE  committed  "suicide"  in  1670.  That 
is,  they  condemned  in  that  year  the  use  of  the 

word. 

* 

A  PHILADELPHIA  plumber  has  actually- 
failed  and  made  an  assignment.  Some  of  the 
citizens  feel  that  his  loss  is  their  eternal  gain. 

* 

SOME  men  construe  a  well-known  biblical 
passage  so  that  it  reads —  "  Love  your  neigh 
bor  as  yourself,  and  his  wife  a  little  better 
than  either." 


535 


Snap  Shots 

THE  late  Robert  Bonner  never  was  able  to 
buy  the  horse  that  could  beat  a  lie  traveling. 


A  FUNNY  sight  is  that  of  a  man  playing  a 
violincello  and  singing  tenor  at  the  same  time. 


IT  is  no  joke  to  say  that  the  great  dog  star 
is  the  brightest  one  visible.  It  is  Serius. 

* 

THIS  is  the  season  when  an  actress  would 
rather  have  a  small  bunch  of  fresh  violets 
thrown  at  her  feet  than  half  a  ton  of  roses. 

* 

LITERARY  efforts  are  like  bread  cast  upon 
the   waters.       They    may    return  —  from    the 
publishers  —  after  man}-    days,   if  the    proper 
postage  accompany  them 
536 


Snap   Shots 

Alarmed  Woman  —  My  jewels  are  in  that 
casket. 

Burglar — Excuse  me,  madame,  I  prefer  a 
few  lumps  of  coal. 

* 

First  Tramp  —  I  read  in  the  paper  that  all 
kinds  of  food  have  gone  up. 

Second  Tramp  —  Then  it  ain't  very  likely 
that  many  of  'em  '11  go  down  —  us. 


537 


Why? 


MANY  riddles  like  these,  I  will  frankly  confess, 
Require  no  remarkable  genius  to  guess  ; 
Why  does  milk  taste  the  best  in  the  season  of  drought, 
And    the    prosperous    dentist    "look    down    in    the 

mouth  ?  ' ' 

Why  do  parsons  among  the  wild  cannibals  roam, 
When  WTC  have  any  number  of  heathen  at  home? 
Why  are  terms  so  confused  e'en  for  pleasant  satire. 
That  lawyer  sounds  often  as  though  one  said  liar? 
Why  —  why?  but  I'll  cease  this  ridiculous  task, 
For  the  more  you  could  answer  the  more  I  could  ask. 


WHEN  some  boor  asked  Michael  Angelo 
why  he  was  so  particular  and  accurate  about 
some  slight  thing,  the  great  genius  replied  : 
"Ah,  it  is  only  a  trifle,  but  trifles  make  per 
fection  and  perfection  is  no  trifle." 


538 


Pith  and  Pasquinade 

AN  EXCHANGE  publishes  an  article  headed, 
' '  How  to  Tell  a  Mad  Dog. ' '  We  have  noth 
ing  to  tell  a  mad  dog  that  we  cannot  com 
municate  by  telephone  or  a  postal  card. 

* 

IT  is  said  that  great  economy  is  used  in  the 
manufacture  of  corsets,  and  yet  there  seems 
to  be  a  good  deal  of  waist  material  in  them. 

* 

NEVER  judge  of  a  man's  character  by  the 
umbrella  he  carries.  It  may  not  be  his. 

* 

EVERYBODY  is  happy  when  times  are  pros 
perous,  but  the  pawnbroker. 

* 

OFT  many  a  juror  wishes  the  lawyer's  brief 
were  briefer. 

* 

Now  that  haying  is  here,  the  farmer  will 
have  mower  work  to  do. 
539 


BO-JU- Legged  Ghost 

A  DECEASED  colored  man  was  referred  to  as 
' '  a  petrified  chunk  of  midnight. ' '   This  shows 
how  darkness  reigns  in  Texas. 
* 

A  GENTLEMAN  in  Syracuse  is  said  to  have 
all  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  at  his  tongue's 
end,  and  to  be  able  to  act  as  prompter  in  any 
of  the  plays,  without  a  book.  His  occupation 
is  to  peddle  bakestuffs,  and  he  is  just  as  good 
on  a  cart  as  a  man  who  cannot  quote  a  word 
of  Shakespeare.  This  proves  that  delving  into 
the  classics  does  not  make  a  man  entirely 

worthless. 

* 

UNCLE  Jerry  asked  his  nephew  if  he  pur 
sued  the  study  of  geography.  "Well,  you 
can  bet  your  sweet  old  life  I  do,"  was  the 
irreverent  answer.  "Then  tell  me  where 
Chicago  is."  "Oh!"  replied  the  youngster, 
"  We  haven't  got  as  far  as  that.  We've  only 
got  as  far  as  Africa." 
* 

POLITICS  and  nervous  debility  are  raging  to 
a  fearful  extent  in  this  section.  It  is  feared 
that  the  mortality  will  exceed  the  morality  by 
a  large  majority. 


54° 


The  Difference 

"  To  PROVE  that  our  fashions  are  very  unstable," 
Quoth  Jones  to  a  friend,  as  they  sat  at  a  table, 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  people  first  ask  in  New  York," 
As  he  lifted  a  piece  of  roast  duck  on  his  fork; 
' '  And  then  what  in  Boston  they  deem  it  polite 
To  ask  of  the  introduced  stranger  on  sight. 
In  Gotham  they  ask,  '  Well,  what  are  you  worth? ' 
As  if  gold  were  all  they  esteemed  upon  earth. 
In  the  Hub  people  ask,  with  their  features  aglow, 
'  I'm   pleased,    sir,   to   meet   you,   but    what    do   you 
know? ' " 

* 

MOTTO  of  the  Arabs  —  Up  and  Bedouin. 
* 

A   BRIGHT   young   fellow  at   Princeton   has 
been  excused  from  attending  chapel  exercises 
in  the  morning,  on  the  plea  of  acute  insomnia. 
* 

DC  Briggs —  Say,  Chappie,  what  is  the  dif 
ference  between  an  extracted  tooth  and  a  linen 
duster  in  winter  weather  ? 

DC  Riggs  —  I  pass. 

DC  Briggs  —  One  is  tooth  out  and  the  other 
is  tooth  in. 

DC  Riggs — (succumbing) — Call  an  ambu 
lance,  quick ! 

541 


Flying  Scud 

THE;  tendency  of  whisky  is  always  down 
ward,  and  it  is  only  natural  that  the  whisky 
trust  should  follow  suit. 
* 

THE  proper  complaint  to  carry  off  a  miser 
would  be  fatty  degeneration  of  the  heart. 

* 

THE  growth  of  the  coffin  trust  has  rendered 
it  more  necessary  than  ever  for  every  man  to 
be  his  own  undertaker. 
* 

ONE  of  the  most  pitiable  objects  in  the  world 
is  the  man  who  works  hard  for  forty  or  fifty 
years,  amasses  a  fortune,  and  then  ignores 
every  opportunity  to  enjoy  it. 

* 

MEN  who  are  not  well  informed  try  to  dog 
matize  in  mental  self-defence. 

* 

"A  FLATTERING  mouth  worketh  ruin,"  and 
likewise  sometimes  a  winking  eye. 
542 


Flying  Scud 

THE  stuttering  man  never  lacketh  for  a 
word,  only  it  taketh  time  for  him  to  utter  it. 

* 

Snobbs  —  How  would  you  like  to  be  a  fe 
male  ? 

Bobbs  —  So-so.  Ma  says  she  don't  mind  it 
any  more. 


543 


T]IC  Bo-jo-Leggcd  Ghost 


Appropriate  Presents 

following   suggestions  may  be  found 
valuable  to  those  who  desire  to  send  a 
holiday   remembrance  to  some  eminent 
personages :  — 

For  Doctor  Mary  Walker  —  A  pair  of  sus 
penders. 

For  Jerry  Simpson  —  Half  a  dozen  pairs  of 
socks. 

For  Miss  Louise  Shepard,  of  the  Christian 
and  Missionary  Alliance  —  A  field  glass  to 
carry  on  her  bicycle. 

For  Chauncey  M.  Depew  —  A  promise  to 
support  him  should  he  be  nominated  for  the 
presidency. 

For  ex-Senator  Peffer  —  A  muffler  to  pro 
tect  his  whiskers  from  the  winter  wind. 

For  David  B.  Hill  —  Ik  Marvel's  "Reveries 
of  a  Bachelor. ' ' 

For  Paul  Dana —  A  pink  ribbon  to  adorn 
the  neck  of  his  office  cat. 
544 


Women  at  Billiards 

For  George  Francis  Train  —  A  buttonhole 
bouquet. 

For  Maggie  Cline  —  A  bushel  of  potatoes. 

For  Mark  Twain  —  A  request  to  write  some 
thing  humorous  occasionally. 

For  Anthony  Comstock  —  A  good  book  used 
in  the  Sunday  Schools,  or  a  picture  that  is  not 
off  color. 


Women  at  Billiards 

§ILUARDS  is  becoming  a  very  popular  game 
among  the  ladies.  By  a  peculiar  phys 
ical  analogy,  the  "old  hens"  make  a 
good  many  "scratches"';  the  querulous  wives 
make  "rail"'  shots  ;  very  thin,  scrawny  women 
make  "  angular  "  shots  ;  young  ladies  playing 
with  their  fiances  make  "kiss"  shots;  young 
mothers  naturally  prefer  to  ' '  nurse ' '  the 
balls;  ambitious  belles  play  for  "position"  ; 
the  star  actresses  excel  in  ' '  draw ' '  shots  ;  and 
female  anglomaniacs  alwrays  put  on  lots  of 
"English." 


35  545 


The  BO"JO- Legged  Ghost 


An   Etching  from    Life 

DE  BELLEVILLE  engaged  Miss 
Franklin  to  instruct  her  little  daugh 
ter,  Elsie,  every  morning,  in  the  com 
mon  branches,  the  child  being  rather  delicate 
and  backward  in  her  studies.  Little  Elsie 
was  particularly  stupid  over  her  sums,  and 
Madame,  thinking  to  encourage  the  child,  an 
nounced  one  day  her  intention  of  taking  up 
fractions  under  Miss  Franklin's  tuition.  As 
Madame' s  habit  was  to  rise  at  noon,  it  was 
something  of  an  effort  for  her  to  be  present, 
but  at  about  eleven  o'clock  she  would  manage 
to  appear,  elegantly  attired  in  a  negligee  gown, 
and  languidly  gliding  into  a  fautcuil,  with 
tiny  gold  pencil  in  hand,  would  request  Miss 
Franklin  to  begin.  In  the  midst  of  a  trying 
problem  she  would  send  for  a  demi-tasse  or 
cup  of  bouillon. 

"  Cherie,"  she  wrould  say  to  her  little  daugh 
ter,  "get  mamma's  lorgnette  —  these  sums  are 
so  difficult  to  see." 

546 


On  one  occasion  the  little  girl  was  told  that 
the  earth  consisted  of  one  quarter  land  and 
three  quarters  water.  The  next  day  when 
asked  to  repeat  her  lesson  she  confidently  de 
clared  that  the  earth  was  composed  of  one 
quart  of  land  and  three  quarts  of  water. 

And  Madame  de  Belleville  advanced  in  about 
the  same  hopeless  way  with  her  fractions. 
Needless  to  say  she  scouted  the  ' '  vulgah ' ' 
fractions  entirely 


An   Open   Letter 

MOST  NOBLE  EARL  OF  WORCESTERSHIRE. 

Sir:  —  I  understand  that  you  are  about  to  take  a 
trip  to  the  Arctic  regions  in  search  of  curiosities  for 
the  English  Naturalist  Society. 

As  one  who  is  familiar  with  British  America  and 
the  most  unique  animals  to  be  found  in  that  portion 
of  the  world,  I  venture  to  make  a  few  suggestions. 

If  you  get  near  the  Little  Slave  Lake,  you  should, 
by  all  means,  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  Boobybat, 
a  very  rare  animal,  indeed,  and  I  am  sure  the  English 
Naturalist  Society  would  highly  appreciate  a  good 
specimen. 

The  peculiarity  of  the  Boobybat  is  that  its  four  legs 
are  attached  to  the  centre  of  its  abdomen,  both  ends  of 
its  body  being  balanced  on  four  very  slender  limbs, 
reminding  one  somewhat  of  the  camera  obscura.  You 

547 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

will  be  fortunate  if  you  bag  one  of  these  strange  crea 
tures,  as  they  are  fast  becoming  extinct. 

Another  animal  that  you  should  not  fail  to  hunt  for 
is  the  so-called  Podyfish,  or  Lachryma-tus.  It  has  a 
great  fondness  for  music,  and  if  you  simply  whistle 
"Sweet  Marie,"  the  Podyfish  will  jump  out  of  the 
water  and  soon  be  at  your  feet.  It  has  only  one  ear, 
and  that  is  just  above  its  nose,  but  it  will  sit  and  listen 
to  you  by  the  hour.  It  will  keep  alive  in  a  jar  of  al 
cohol  as  readily  as  water.  Should  you  happen  to  have 
any  alcohol  left  on  reaching  Churchill  River,  you  can 
secure  a  live  Podyfish  without  very  much  trouble. 

In  the  mountains  on  the  Alaska  border  there  are  to 
be  found  a  choice  lot  of  wild  women,  who  are  sup 
posed  to  have  been  originally  English  star  actresses. 
They  are  in  a  perfectly  chaotic  condition,  and  the  only 
way  they  can  be  captured  is  by  rapturously  clapping 
your  hands  and  offering  them  bouquets  and  diamond 
brooches.  It  would  be  well  for  you  before  starting  on 
your  expedition,  to  lay  in  a  stock  of  diamond  brooches, 
if  you  think  the  English  Naturalist  Society  would 
like  a  wild  woman  or  two. 

I  could  tell  you  about  numerous  other  specimens 
that  are  obtainable  in  the  Arctic  Archipelago,  but  you 
probably  have  your  route  all  laid  out  and  have  a  pre 
pared  list  of  the  things  you  most  desire  to  procure. 
However,  should  you,  most  noble  earl,  require  any 
further  information  before  you  set  forth  on  your  peril 
ous  pilgrimage  in  the  interest  of  science,  please  com 
municate  with  me.  I  have  the  honor  to  subscribe 
myself, 

Yours  truly, 

IRA  INVERS. 

CURATOR  ZOOLOGICAL  MUSEUM,  HOBOKEN. 

548 


Two  Points  of  View 

Manager —  Here  it  tells  about  you  in  cold 
type. 

Actress —  (After  perusing  notice)  —  I'm  de 
lighted.  Why,  this  is  the  best  kind  of  praise 
for  me.  For  once  I  figure  in  very  warm  type, 
it  strikes  me. 

* 

Bitkins — Whotherspoon  has  worn  that  tile 
of  his  for  three  straight  years  to  my  knowl 
edge.  Why  doesn't  he  get  a  new  one? 

Ruggles — Why,  he's  hoping  it  will  be  the 
style  again  before  it  falls  to  pieces. 


549 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 


When  Mr.  Howells  Was  Young 

.  WILLIAM  DEAN  HOWELLS  has  reached 
a  point  in  his  brilliant  career  where 
he  can  afford  to  pause  and  take  a 
retrospective  survey  of  his  monumental 
achievements. 

"My  Literary  Passions,"  have  a  piquant, 
autobiographical  flavor  that  is  refreshing  in 
this  age  of  stilted  self-exploiture. 

Even  more  interesting  than  these  discursive 
papers,  however,  is  Mr.  Howell's  account  of 
his  "First  Visit  to  New  England,"  which  is 
especially  interesting.  He  delightfully  de 
scribes  a  breakfast  given  in  his  honor  in 
Boston,  over  thirty  years  ago,  by  James  Rus 
sell  Lowell,  at  which  were  also  present  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  and  James  T.  Fields.  On 
the  following  morning  he  was  a  guest  at  the 
Fields' s  table,  in  their  cozy  house  beside  the 
Charles  River. 

In  contrasting  the  home  environment  of 
this  eminent  author-publisher  with  what  he 
himself  had  been  accustomed  to  in  Ohio,  he 
550 


When  yl/r.   Hovcclls  ivas    Toiing 

says:  "I  was  very  new  to  it  all,  how  new  I 
could  not  very  well  say,  but  I  flattered  myself 
that  I  breathed  in  that  atmosphere  as  if  in  the 
return  from  lifelong  exile. 

' '  Still  I  bragged  of  the  West  a  little,  and  I 
told  them  proudly  that  in  Columbus  no  book 
since  'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'  had  sold  so  well 
as  the  'Marble  Faun.'  This  made  the  effect 
that  I  wished,  but  whether  it  was  true  or  not, 
heaven  knows  ;  I  only  know  that  I  heard  it 
from  our  leading  bookseller,  and  I  made  no 
question  of  it  myself." 


The  Bo~A-Lcggcd  Ghost 


Lucky 

Robbins —  That  fire  at  Higbee's  house  was 
a  great  blessing  to  him. 

Mack  —  A  blessing  ? 

Robbins  —  Yes;  his  daughter's  piano  was 
destroyed. 

* 

Testimonials 

Lady  —  Can  you  cook,  wash  and  iron  and 
do  chamber  work  ? 

Bridget —  Yes,  indade. 

Lady  —  Well,  I  am  willing  to  take  you  on 
trial. 

Bridget — Oi  couldn't  think  of  wurkin'  fur 
yez  widout  first  lookin'  at  your  ricomminda- 
tions  from  the  ladies  what  has  been  in  your 
service. 


552 


Considerable  Foresight 


I've  Seen  and  People  I've  Met," 
l^1  by  the  veteran  journalist,  the  late 
George  Augustus  Sala,  is  thoroughly 
readable  from  start  to  finish.  Sala  spent 
thirteen  months  in  the  United  States  during 
the  Civil  War,  and  relates  many  fresh  anec 
dotes  concerning  eminent  Americans  whom 
he  met.  Here  is  one  : 

"In  Senator  Bayard  (former  United  States 
Minister  to  England)  is  vested  the  copyright 
of  the  story  of  a  well-known  New  York  hu 
morist  who  occasionally  indulged  too  freely, 
and  who,  being  asked  to  dinner  by  Mr.  Bayard, 
at  his  house  in  Washington,  was  observed  by 
his  host,  who  had  himself  walked  home  with 
him,  to  be  attentively  counting  the  number  of 
steps  in  the  high  '  stoop  '  in  front  of  the 
mansion. 

'  What   on  earth  are  you  counting   those 
steps  for  ?  '  asked  the  Senator. 

"  '  Got  to  come  down  them  again,'  was  the 
reply  of  the  prescient  humorist  and  admirer  of 
4  Extra  Dry.' 


553 


The  Boiv-Lcggcd  Ghost 


Her  Inference 

Aunt  Lucy  —  I  should  like  so  much  to  see 
Niagara  Falls.  We  have  never  been  there. 

Young  Niece — Why,  auntie,  aren't  you  and 
Uncle  Cephas  married? 

Aunt  Lucy  —  Certainly. 

Young  Niece  —  Oh,  I  understand  —  you 
didn't  take  any  wedding  tour. 

* 

The  Cause  of  it 

Rudworth  —  Smythe  has  resumed  his  orig 
inal  name  of  Smith. 

Ombbs  —  How  is  that? 

Rudworth  —  He  went  into  bankruptcy  yes 
terday. 

* 

A  Transitory  Feeling 

IN  SOME  men  religion  is  like  the  circulation 
of  the  blood  —  it  doesn't  stay  long  enough  at 
one  time  in  their  hearts  to  give  them  any  cor 
rect  understanding  of  what  it  is  like. 


554 


He  Learned  Something 


Has  the  Proof 

Jenkins  —  Do  you  think  Lady  Somerset 
believes  all  she  says  against  intemperance? 

Limbkins  —  She  ought  to;  she  is  the  owner 
of  fourteen  public  houses. 


Alice  (pensively)  —  What's  in  a  name? 
Phil   (despondently) — Everything  —  on    a 

draft. 

* 

He  Learned  Something 

LONG  ISLAND  farmer  drove  up  the  Bow 
ery  the  other  dav  at  a  snail's  pace,  alter- 

_  .      x 

nating  his  gaze  from  one  side  of  the  busy 
thoroughfare  to  the  other.  Several  baskets 
of  eggs,  laid  during  the  fiscal  year,  graced 
the  after  part  of  his  infirm  vehicle.  Finally 
he  stopped  before  the  threshold  of  a  Hebrew 
clothing  establishment. 

"  Want  any  eggs?"  inquired  the  farmer  of 
the  proprietor,  who  was  basking  in  the  door 
way. 

555 


The  Bo-v-Lcgged  Ghost 

' '  How  mooch  you  ask  a  doozen  ? ' ' 

' '  Thirty  cents. ' ' 

"  Veil,  no  von  on  der  Bowery  vants  dem  at 
dot  price.  You  see,  mine  freint,  ve  are  rais 
ing  our  poultry  und  getting  our  eggs  free 
nowadays." 

' '  How's  that  ?  ' '  asked  the  farmer  curiously. 

' '  Vy,  every  man  on  dis  street  has  got  his 
hen  coops  on  der  roof  of  his  house.  I  mine 
self  have  over  dree  hundret  hens  laying  night 
und  day.  Vould  you  pelieve  it  ?  I  have  so 
many  eggs  dot  I  have  to  sell  de  old  vons  to 
der  fellers  vot  go  to  see  pad  plays  at  der 
theatres. ' ' 

"  Does  everybody  have  hen  coops  on  their 
houses  over  this  way  ?  ' '  inquired  the  farmer, 
throwing  away  the  stump  of  a  cigar. 

"  I  don't  know  of  von  man  vot  hasn't  got 
hens  und  plenty  of  eggs,"  was  the  meek 
response.  ' '  But  if  you  \vant  to  sell  me  your 
eggs  at  five  cents  a  doozen  I  will  take  dem 
und  have  dem  painted  for  next  Easter." 

"Well  take  'em.  Gol  hang  it,  I'll  never 
come  to  New  York  agin  to  sell  anything. 
Next  thing  you'll  be  mowin'  hay  in  your  front 
parlors.  I  can  git  twenty  cents  a  dozen  fur 
'em  at  hum,  but  I've  learnt  something.  Take 
'em  along." 

556 


His    True  Inwardness 


She   Had  Changed 

Miss  Woodruff — You  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that  lady  is  Mrs.  Van  Vorst. 

Miss  Oldtree — Yes,  but  she  has  a  bicycle 
face. 

* 

A  Modern  Work 

Policeman  —  Come,  move  on  about  your 
business. 

Messenger  boy  ( dime  novel  in  hand )  — 
Please,  Mr.  Cop,  jest  let  me  see  how  Blood 
thirsty  Pete  prevents  Devil-may-care  Maggie 
from  stealin'  her  sister's  suspenders  to  hang 
herself  \vid,  an'  I'll  go  a  mile  a  minute. 

* 

His  True   Inwardness 

Dora's  Millionaire  Father  to  Her  Suitor  — 
Young  man,  you  wish  to  marry  my  daughter. 
I  fear  you  are  prompted  by  sordid  motives. 

Young  Man — Indeed,  no,  sir.  They're  as 
good  as  gold. 


557 


The  B&w-Legged  Ghost 

Nellie  (in  the  absence  of  the  servant,  try 
ing  to  start  a  fire  in  the  grate) — Oh,  dear 
me,  I  wish  this  stupid  fire  would  burn. 

Nellie's  Mother — Throw'  in  some  of  Mr. 
Gushington's  love  letters  to  you,  Nell. 


Out  of  Commission 

' '  WHAT  a  rigid-looking  creature  Miss 
Smirks  is." 

' '  I  will  tell  you  the  cause  of  that.  Xot  long 
ago  she  had  two  ribs  broken,  and  her  waist  is 

in  a  sling." 

* 

Miss   Van  Corlear  (munching  bon-bons)  — 
Oh,  I  dote  on  marrons  glace s. 

Young  Dr.  Corlear — Let  me  give  you  an 
anti-dote. 

* 

Mrs.  Tibbies — I've  just  instructed  Bridget 
to  pack  up  her  duds  and  leave  the  house. 

Mr.  T. —  What  has  she  done? 

Mrs.  T. — Why,  she  had  the  impertinence 
this  morning  actually  to  take  a  bath  in  our 
bath-tub. 

558 


LEADVILLE  school-teacher  opens  the 
morning  session  with  an  address  to  his 
scholars.  This  is  what  he  says  :  ' '  Well, 
pupils,  I  won't  be  hard  on  you  this  bright 
morning  by  compelling  you  to  desist  from 
whispering.  But  heaven  help  the  first  boy  I 
catch  chewing  tobacco  !  Bill  Bloodgood  may 
remain  in  his  seat  during  recess  to  atone  for 
the  swearing  and  fighting  he  did  yesterday  on 
his  way  home  from  school.  Nellie  Hardshell 
I  must  punish  for  stealing  little  Georgie 
Mills' s  dinner  and  calling  Fan  Felly  a  liar. 
Miss  Abigail  Spinaway  has  kindly  asked  my 
consent  to  allow  her  to  write  to  a  gentleman 
friend  in  Boston  while  the  class  in  grammar  i,s 
reciting.  Be  careful,  Abbie,  in  writing  your 
letter,  to  say  nothing  to  give  yourself  away  to 
that  young  man  in  Boston.  I  must  insist  that 
Jim  Lake  shall  stop  coming  in  here  saturated 
with  gin,  or  he  will  be  fed  some  lead  pills. 
The  school  will  proceed  to  business  while  I 
559 


The  Bo~^-Lcggcd  Ghost 

whale  that  little  runt  of  a  Will  Crumpet,  who 
knocked  me  down  in  the  dark  last  night  and 
tried  to  swipe  my  elegant  Roman  hour-glass 
by  which  I  have  told  the  time  for  the  past 
twenty-five  years." 

* 

Not  Pressed  for  Time 

Stoophead —  Budd  never  seems  to  have  any 
thing  to  do.  He  must  have  a  private  income. 

Brightpate  —  Oh,  no.  He  tells  me  he's  the 
advertising  manager  of  the  Congressional  Rec 
ord. 

* 

To  Be  Sure 

Boggs  —  Is  there  no  ornithological  name  for 
riches  ? 

Soggs  —  I  don't  know.      Why  ? 

Boggs  —  Do  they  not  take  wings  unto 
themselves  and  fly  awav? 


560 


A    Woman's    Wrong 


Evolution  of  a  Feminine  Name 

Christened  Mary. 

At  ten  called  Mattie. 

At  fifteen  called  May. 

At  twenty  called  Moll. 

At  twenty-five  called  Molly. 

At  thirty  called  Ma-rye-a. 

When  married,  Marie. 

* 

The  Worst  Kind 

Mrs.  Jadders  —  Are  you  afraid  of  light 
ning  ? 

Mrs.  Trewpor  —  Qnly  of  the  kind  that  my 
husband  gets  in  New  Jersey. 


A  Woman's  Wrong 

Blabton  —  Why  are  the  women  of  to-day 
so  heavily  laden? 

Katley  —  Give  it  up.     Why  ? 

Blabton  —  Because  they  carry  a  leg  of  mut 
ton  on  each  arm. 


36  561 


The  Bo~jo-Leggcd  Ghost 


He  Didn't  Pass  Muster 

Tibbies  —  Did  you  ever  travel  in  Africa? 

Quibbles  (globe-trotter) — Yes.  I  went  there 
once  with  my  colored  valet,  who  wanted  to  see 
where  his  grandmother  lived. 

Tibbies — Did  he  find  her? 

Quibbles  —  He  found  her  but  she  wouldn't 
have  anything  to  do  with  him. 

Tibbies — How  was  that? 

Quibbles — Well,  the  old  lady  thought  he 
had  too  much  white  blood  in  his  veins  to  be 

respectable. 

* 

FAVORITE  hymn  of  the  barber  — 

"Soon  we'll  lather  at  the  river." 

* 

Great  Self-Denial 

New  Bride  —  I  have  baked  my  first  pie, 
dear.  Won't  we  have  fun  eating  it  with  our 
New  Year's  dinner  to-morrow? 

Husband —  I  am  sorry,  darling  ;  but  I  have 
made  it  a  rule  of  my  life  never  to  eat  pie  dur 
ing  the  holidays. 


562 


An  Honest    Confession 


Candidates  for  Society 

Bernstein  (who  has  just  retired)  —  Vat  ve 
vant  now  is  to  get  our  names  in  de  papers 
every  tay  like  dem  Vanderbilts  and  Goelets. 

Mrs.  Bernstein  —  You  are  right,  Solomon. 
Say  ve  give  a  pig  ball. 

Bernstein  —  Dare  it  is  again.  Vy  can't  you 
speak  English  like  me?  Ve  hate  hogs;  den 
vhy  vill  you  say  a  ' '  pig  ' '  ball  ?  Ve  vill  never 
get  into  society  if  you  talk  in  dot  vay. 


Badly  Needed 

Grimley  —  Alvah  Ayers  has  a  great  scheme 
on  foot. 

Bloomer  —  What  is  it? 

Grimley — He  is  going  to  organize  a  soci 
ety  for  the  reform  of  reformers. 

* 

An  Honest  Confession. 

Jim  son  —  Did  you  lose  anything  on  election  ? 
Blabson  —  Yes,    I    talked    through    two  $8 
hats. 

563 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 


Excessive   Plainness 

Miss  de  Copps —  Miss  Buntling  is  very  plain, 
I  hear. 

Miss  Hardheart  —  Well,  she's  so  homely 
that  her  diamonds  won't  sparkle  when  she 

-wears  them. 

* 

Youthful  Presumption 

Snaggs  —  That  young  Van  Doyle  is  giving 
himself  altogether  too  many  airs. 

Whiffles—  How  is  that  ? 

Snaggs  —  Well,  he  pretends  he  has  a  bad 
liver,  and  is  only  nineteen,  you  know. 

* 

Ample   Proof 

Stubbs  —  Do  you  believe  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  suspended  animation  ? 

Rusly  —  No. 

Stubbs  —  Well,  just  tie  the  tails  of  two  cats 
together  and  hang  'em  over  a  fence  if  you 
want  to  study  a  case  of  suspended  animation. 


564 


Literal 


Just   a   Little   Query 

SIR  WILLIAM  JONES  says:  "  Words  are  the 
daughters  of  earth,  and  thoughts  are  the  sons 
of  heaven."  Can  it  be  possible  that  Sir  Wil 
liam  means  to  intimate  that  language  is  fem 
inine,  and  thought  masculine? 


Love's   Labor   Lost 

Biddle  —  Jimson  has  given  up  his  contem 
plated  great  genealogical  work. 

Riddle-- How  is  that? 

Biddle  —  He  found  among  his  ancestors, 
only  one  hundred  years  back,  three  murder 
ers,  two  horse  thieves,  a  bigamist,  and  several 
other  objectionable  people. 


Literal 

Teacher —  Can  any  one  tell  me  the  meaning 
of  Ash- Wednesda)^  ? 

"Yessum,"  replied  the  Harlem  lad,  "it's 
the  day  they  collect  the  ashes." 


565 


The  Bo-w- Legged  Ghost 


The  Public 

THE  public  loses  more  of  its  beauty  sleep 
than  it  did  when  our  forefathers  and  fore- 
mothers  went  to  bed  .at  sundown. 

The  public  has  no  use  for  any  of  us  until 
we  have  been  of  use  to  the  public. 

The  public,  be  it  remembered,  is  generally 
right. 

The  public  has  no  time  to  pause  and  tell 
you  it  sympathizes  with  you  because  a  relative 
or  friend  is  dead,  or  you  have  a  jumping  tooth 
ache. 


A   Comical   Paraphrase 

DURING  a  rather  novel  discourse  concerning 
the  dignity  and  rewards  of  labor,  a  colored 
brother,  Rev.  Mr.  Cheekbones,  who  prided 
himself  on  being  a  self-made  divine,  remarked 
with  considerable  fervor:  "  I'se  been  practicin' 
de  ministry  fo"  fo'ty  years,  bress  d'  Lamb,  'n' 
I'se  foun'  out  dat  man  mus'  earn  his  bread  by 
de  sweat  of  his  eyebrow,  hallelujah!" 


566 


The  Role  Reversed 


The    Reason 

"I  DON'T  see,  mum,  why  your  other  cook 
went  away  so  quick  !  '  ' 

'  '  My  husband  found  fault  with  a  pudding 
he  thought  I  had  made  and  the  cook  overheard 

him." 

* 

The   Facetious   Butler 

A  PHILADELPHIA  millionaire  tells  me  he 
has  a  witty  butler  in  his  employ.  One  day 
recently,  while  bringing  to  the  table  some 
angel  cake,  he  let  the  plate  drop  on  the  floor. 
Gathering  up  the  pieces  and  the  sugar-coated 
confection,  with  great  solemnity,  he  remarked, 
as  he  was  passing  out  of  the  dining-room: 
"I'll  be  blessed  if  it  isn't  Fallen  Angel  cake." 

The  millionaire  thinks  that  his  butler  must 
be  familiar  with  the  writings  of  Milton. 


The   Role   Reversed 

So  OFTEN  have  I  seen  Joe  Jefferson  play  Rip, 
That  I  can  speak  his  lines  with  scarce  a  single  slip. 

Oh,  what  a  pleasant  change  if  but  it  could  be  done, 
To  see  Old  Rip   Van    Winkle  play  Joseph  Jefferson. 

567 


The  Bo'w-Lcgged  Ghost 


An  Agricultural  Genius 

A  YOUNG  man  who  is  conducting  a  farm  in 
New  Jersejr,  according  to  rules  he  acquired  in 
an  agricultural  college,  says  that  in  order  to 
obtain  the  best  results  in  raising  breadplant, 
the  flour  should  be  planted  very  early  in  the 
spring. 

Journals  devoted  to  bucolic  interests  please 

copy. 

* 

A   Dangerous   Announcement 

"THE  editor  desires  co-respondents  in  all 
the  principal  cities,"  is  a  recent  surprising  an 
nouncement  in  an  English  dramatic  journal. 
Of  course  the  compositor  was  mischievous  and 
the  proof  reader  was  absent-minded,  but  that 
little  hyphen  may  get  the  editor  into  a  lot  of 

trouble. 

* 

A   Definition 

THE  Cliptomaniac  is  an  editor  who  uses  his 
scissors  more  than  his  brains. 


568 


Fire  Proof 


A   Nice   Distinction 

Little  Girl — Oh,  mamma,  the  water  for  my 
bath  is  too  cold. 

Mother — No,  Gertrude,  it  is  nice  and  luke 
warm. 

Little  Girl —  But,  mamma,  I  want  it  luke  hot. 


Twentieth-Century   Chivalry 

A  FRESH  bridegroom,  having  his  fair  young 
spouse  uppermost  in  his  mind,  made  the  fol 
lowing  entry  on  the  register  of  the  "Waldorf- 
Astoria  a  few  days  since :  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Met- 
wold  Gray  son,  Chicago,  111. 

There  is  chivalry  for  you. 


Fire  Proof 

Mr.  Blobkins — I'm  afraid  this  desk  is  in 
secure.  It  contains  all  of  my  securities.  Sup 
pose  it  should  be  consumed  by  fire  while  we 
are  away? 

Mrs.  Blobkins  —  Impossible!  You  told  me 
yourself  this  morning  that  all  your  stocks  and 
bonds  are  watered. 

569 


Tlic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 


Rather   Personal 

IN  A  small  town  in  the  rural  part  of  England 
there  is  a  ritualistic  Episcopal  Church  which 
has  the  reputation  of  beiug  almost  Roman 
Catholic  in  its  form  of  worship.  It  is  called 
St.  Mary's.  A  wag  once  attended  the  service 
and  was  so  much  impressed  that  after  coming 
out  he  tacked  upon  the  door  a  card  bearing  the 
inscription:  "St.  Mary's  Junction.  Change 
cars  for  Rome." 


A  Logical  Deduction 

A  SALVATION  Army  girl  was  offering  the 
War  Cry  for  sale,  scarcely  ten  minutes  after 
it  was  off  the  press. 

"  War  Cry,  sir?  " 

"Thanks,  I  bought  one,  read  it  through, 
and  gave  it  to  a  friend,"  said  the  sporty  man 
whom  she  had  accosted. 

The  Salvation  Army  lassie  gave  him  an 
incredulous  smile,  as  she  said:  "You  must 
read  by  electricity." 


A   Mighty  Problem 

What  Could  the  Poor  Teacher  Say  ? 

Ax  EAST  side  boy,  on  being  asked  by  his 
teacher  to  name  the  principal  parts  of  man, 
made  this  answer  :  ' '  Man  is  divided  into 
three  parts  —  de  head,  de  limbs,  and  de  trunk. 
De  head  contains  de  brains,  de  limbs  contain 
de  muscles,  and  de  trunk  contains  de  bowels, 
which  is  composed  of  a,  e,  i,  o,  u,  and  some 
times  y. ' ' 


A   Mighty   Problem 

A  PSEUDO  scientific  authority  asserts  that 
the  average  immigrant,  when  he  lands  at 
Ellis  Island,  has  on  his  person  an  ulster,  an 
overcoat,  two  undercoats,  five  waistcoats, 
three  shirts,  and  two  undershirts,  a  pair  of 
overalls,  two  pairs  of  trousers,  and  six  hundred 
and  seventy-five  thousand  two  hundred  and 
ninety-one  fleas.  Two  thousand  of  these 
immigrants  landed  the  other  day.  Now  get 
out  your  slate  and  multiply  it  all  up,  and  see 
how  many  second-hand  clothing  stores  and 
dogs  they  would  furnish. 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Doubting   His   Diagnosis 

Doctor — You  say  yon  swallow  the  seeds 
when  you  eat  grapes? 

Mrs.  Hartburn  —  Always. 

Doctor — Then  I  fear  yours  is  a  case  of  ap 
pendicitis. 

Mrs.  Hartburn  —  Oh  no,  doctor,  I'm  not 
fashionable  enough  to  have  that. 


A   Trophy   of   the   Chase 

IN  DESCENDING  a  grand  staircase  the  other 
evening  at  a  swell  reception,  a  well-known 
society  woman  dropped  one  of  her  richly  em 
broidered  slippers.  A  young  rake,  who  was 
following  close  at  her  heels,  picked  it  up,  and, 
after  gazing  admiringly  at  it  for  a  moment, 
ardently  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  then  offered 
to  adjust  it  to  her  dainty  foot.  The  lady 
turned  away  contemptuously  and,  going  to  the 
hostess,  borrowed  a  pair  of  the  latter's  slippers 
to  wear  during  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Not 
apparently  fazed  in  the  least,  the  wayward 
young  man  pocketed  the  slipper  and  it  is  now 
in  his  room  among  other  less  chaste  souvenirs. 


Disappointed  in  Love 

Ax  ELDERLY  bachelor,  whose  apartments 
are  in  one  of  the  largest  uptown  flat  houses, 
has  for  his  sole  companion  a  tame  white  mouse. 
He  enjoys  an  income  of  about  $20,000  a  year. 
A  friend  of  his  informed  me  the  other  day  that 
several  years  ago  Mr.  H —  -  was  disappointed 
in  a  love  affair.  But  strangely  enough,  the 
lady  is  still  single  and  occasionally  pays  him  a 
visit  with  her  niece,  who  acts  in  the  guileless 
capacity  of  a  chaperon.  Mr.  H—  -  has  been 
tempted  several  times  to  forget  his  disappoint 
ment,  whatever  it  is,  and  lead  his  patient  old 
dame  to  the  altar,  but  he  somehow  manages  to 

desist. 

* 

Rumley  —  Behold  !    there's  a  messenger  boy 
who  is  actually  running. 
Joblotte  —  Oh,  that's  nothing.   He's  off  duty. 


Tubbs  —  Charlie  Walters   has   left  the  law 
and  is  now  a  waiter  at  Del's. 

Goutley  —  He's  gone  in  for  bigger  fees,  eh? 

573 


Tlic  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

Astor  Van  Tassel — Cholly,  I've  got  an 
idea,  b'Jove. 

De  Puyster  —  Don't  try  to  grapple  with  it. 
What's  the  use  of  getting  all  tired  out  for 
nothing? 


Mrs.  Ludgate  —  I  believe  Doctor  Killum  is 
celebrated  for  his  patience  in  ministering  to 
the  sick. 

Judge  Ruffum  —  Yes,  he  has  to  be  cele 
brated  for  his  patients,  as  they  do  not  live 
long  enough  under  his  treatment  to  acquire 
celebrity  for  themselves. 


A   Business   Matter 

Fibbles —  Phil  Armour,  of  Chicago,  wants  as 
many  Chinese  in  the  United  States  as  will 
come. 

Tibbies  —  Why? 

Fibbles — Because  he  can  make  a  neat  profit 
on  pig  tails  sold  to  baldheaded  Chinamen. 


574 


An   Antique  Epidemic 

On  the  Way  to  the  Bridge 

She —  I  hear  a  man  preaching  in  that  build 
ing.  Let's  wait  until  he  finishes  and  then  ask 
him  to  marry  us. 

He  —  Let  us  go  on  to  Brooklyn  —  that  is  an 
auctioneer's  voice. 


An  Antique  Epidemic 

SOME  of  our  positive-minded  young  women 
who  are  aspiring  to  pose  as  reformers 
might  find  a  field  for  the  exercise  of  their 
talents  in  organizing  an  Anti-Crinoline  So 
ciety.  They  might  not  be  able  to  stem  the 
' '  sounding ' '  tide  that  is  bearing  rapidly 
towards  us  a  full  cargo  of  "Hoops,"  but  it 
seems  as  though  their  arguments  and  pleadings 
might  in  some  measure  influence  their  weaker 
sisters,  who  so  abjectly  follow  the  decrees  of 
autocratic  Dame  Fashion.  It  is  horrible  to 
learn  that  Crinoline  is  "coming  in,"  —to  what 
extent  we  know  not, — and  it  fills  the  mascu 
line  heart  with  a  nameless  alarm  —  the  mere 
thought  of  the  old-style  "Hoops"  of  our 
grandmothers.  Ladies,  our  emotions  only 
allow  us  to  say  :  "Don't  !  Please,  don't  !" 
575 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 


Reason   Enough 

"Why  did  you  leave  the  Watsons,  Brid 
get?" 

"An'  sure  they  didn't  have  a  peanny  in 
the  house,  and  Mrs.  Watson's  dresses  are  ould 
as  the  hills  ;  an'  thin  she  niver  goes  out  ony- 
way. ' ' 


An   Apt   Quotation 

"  Hansom  is  as  hansom  does,"  as  the  wag 
gish  policeman  remarked  to  an  inebriated 
cabby  whom  he  was  conducting  to  the  station 

house. 

* 

Lost 

Miss  Whirls/are  (of  Chicago)  —  Now,  if 
you  were  in  my  shoes,  what  would  you  do  ? 

Miss  Wonder  (of  New  York) — H'm,  I  think 
I'd  get  out  a  search  warrant  for  myself. 


576 


A   Seat  in  the  Front  Row 


A  Seat  in  the  Front  Row 

THE  Khedive  of  Egypt  has  sent  to  Paris 
for  a  ballet  corps,  to  be  composed  of  beauti 
ful  females  not  under  fifteen  or  over  thirty 
years  of  age.  This  is  the  first  intimation 
civilization  has  had  that  the  Khedive  was 
really  getting  bald. 

* 

THE  situation  in  Europe  is  certainly  getting 
ominous.  There  was  one  day  within  a  \veek 
when  the  papers  printed  no  rumors  of  war 
from  there. 

* 

Miss  Twining  —  Look,  Mabel,  at  Mr. 
Sprinks,  the  poet.  Don't  his  trousers  bag  at 
the  knees? 

Miss  Critmogg  —  Yes,  but  just  think,  Clara, 
what  a  great  mind  he  has. 


A  GOOD  patrolman  ought  to  be  able  to  go 
the  pace  without  damage  to  his  pocket,  and 
there  is  every  proof  that  the  New  York  patrol 
man  does. 

37  577 


The  Boiv-Lcgged  Ghost 

Sobkins  —  I  heard  a  fellow  get  off  a  good 
thing  this  morning,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I 
can't  think  what  it  was. 

Hobbs  —  It  must  have  been  good,  then,  for 
if  it  had  been  bad  you  would  have  been  sure 
to  remember  it. 


His  Presence  of  Mind 

She — Is  it  true  that  occasionally  you  paint 

e  town  red? 

He  — Yes  ;  but  only  in  water  colors. 


j  the  town  red? 
//*_ 


Versatility  \yith  a  Vengeance 


Miss  Twitters  -  —  et  me  see,  you  are  a 
farmer,  are  you  ndt?  ' 

Mr.  Kofman  —  I  smarted  to  be,  but  the  soil 
was  so  cluttered  with  rocks  as  to  render  agri- 
cv^lture  too  expensive,  so  I  turned  my  atten- 
tion^io.  geology,  and  now  hope  to  make  some 
important  discoveries  before  long. 


578 


A   Facial 


Only  by  Marriage 

Mr.  Boggs  (of  Chicago)  —  Who  is  that 
elderly  looking  woman  over  there  talking  to 
Judge  Sharply? 

Mr.  Soggs  (of  the  same  place)  —  Why,  that 
is  the  widow  Staggers.  You  remember,  she 
was  my  third  wife,  and  your  first  wife's 
mother. 

Mr.  Boggs — Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now. 


Blmky — I  am  informed  that  Harkens  is 
going  on  the  stage. 

Kidkins — And  only  the  other  day  he  was 
talking  about  his  horror  of  paresis. 


A  Facial   Failing 

Pugilist1  s  Second — Don't  be  afraid,  old  fel 
low  ;  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip. 

Pugilist  —  I  can't;  the  brute  has  knocked 
all  of  my  front  teeth  out. 


579 


The  Bow-Legged  Ghost 

A   Teutonic   Project 

SELLING  music  by  weight  is  not  a  bad  idea 
which  has  recently  been  introduced  in  Ger 
many,  and  which  promises  to  meet  with  con 
siderable  success. 

Of  course,  as  in  all  innovations,  objections 
will  be  offered  to  the  idea,  but  with  a  judi 
cious  scaling  of  prices,  these  may  be  met  and 
satisfied.  At  first  the  purchasers  of  light 
operatic  music,  songs,  dance  music,  etc.,  will 
have  a  pull  in  the  weights,  so  to  speak,  but 
their  advantage  will  be  only  temporary,  as  it 
would  be  manifestly  unfair  to  continue  to 
retail  Wagner  and  Beethoven  at  the  same  rate 
per  pound  as  Donizetti  and  Strauss. 


Mental  Confusion 

Farmer  Dadage  —  \Val,  L/unky,  what  do 
you  rec'lect  best  of  seein'  down  to  New  York? 

Lunky  (Just  home  from  his  first  metropoli 
tan  visit)  —  The  statue  of  Poverty  scarin'  the 
world,  hold  in'  in  her  right  hand  the  Decla- 
pendence  of  Indignation. 


580 


He  Kept  His  Promise 

AT  A  Fad  Party  every  one  was  supposed  to 
wear  something  indicating  his  or  her  latest 
fad.  One  woman  came,  wearing  a  little  bag 
full  of  small  stones  and  written  on  it,  "Just 
plain  D's. " 

No  one  could  guess  what  it  signified  ;  so  she 
said  she  would  tell  those  present  the  story. 

A  man  one  time  wanted  to  play  golf  very 
much  and  his  wife  objected  on  the  ground 
that  it  led  to  profanity.  But  finally  she  con 
sented  to  his  participating  in  the  game,  pro 
vided  he  would  put  in  his  pockets  a  stone 
for  every  "  cuss  word  "  he  used.  That  night 
he  came  home  staggering  under  a  load  of 
stones  and  said  to  his  wife  :  "In  this  pocket 
are  the  G — d's  ;  in  this  one  the  H — 's  ;  and  a 
man  is  coming  with  a  whole  bag  full  of  just 
plain  d's.'' 

The  party  was  at  a  minister's  house,  and 
the  pastor  himself  laughed  heartily. 


581 


A     000  088  695     2 


